Curiouser Day By Day
by silentlysnowing
Summary: A catalogue of the Hatter's life before and throughout the Red Queen's reign, including thoughts and musings on the girl who was both the fault and the solution to the problem as a whole. Read with care, for madness has a dreadful habit of spreading...
1. Wonderland Begins

_My own little adaptation of Alice's many adventures, told from the Hatter's point of view. Thank you already for reading- the only thing you could possibly do to make me happier would be to review! Critiques and indications of what works and what doesn't are especially encouraged._

_This story is the fault of "She Had the World" by Panic! At The Disco. It works surprisingly well for the two._

_

* * *

_Her favorite phrase was 'curiouser and curiouser', he had hypothesized once upon a time. Odd that she used it to describe their world when Wonderland was absolutely ordinary in comparison to her.

Not that he realized that when he first saw her. Contrariwise, she appeared to be the most boringly typical example of a Little Girl upon first sight, very like the picture one might observe next to a definition in the family dictionary. Here we see exhibit A: Blue eyes and dress, yellow hair, bland and vapid expression. Twopence shall buy you a dozen in any schoolroom, but what would you do with them then?

Therefore, instead of requesting in a demanding tone that she might Please Present Her Invitation Or Leave The Tea Party At Once, he dipped his sleeve into his half-empty teacup and stared. He was _terribly_ proud of his stares, orange-rimmed as they were, since they were able to display a fierce sense of madness that no amount of dithering or logical explanations could match. As madness had everything to do with looking into situations the correct way instead of conforming to preposterous social expectations, he was keen to show his off in every way that he possibly could.

Little Girl ignored him as she argued with the March Hare. He decided that he wished to know her name- if only he had a penny to throw in a well!

"Your hair wants cutting," he remarked once a natural pause sprang to life between the other's snippy comments, moving his steady, narrowed gaze from her oh-so-typical golden locks to her tiny face. Little Girl jerked her head around to stare at him, then scrunched her nose up. He would later learn that she always twisted her nose when attempting to come up with a witty response or the answer to a question, which usually detracted from the severity of her words; at that time, he merely reflected that it made her look rather more like a pig than a cat.

"You should learn not to make personal remarks; it's very rude," was her slightly irritated response. She spoke with great weight and dignity, thrusting her chin up into the air mid-sentence. And _just like that _she took control of the reality of the situation, gathering together the threads of conversation and spinning them into her thread.

It was dizzying.

He tried to snatch reality back as his eyes popped open wide and his hat nearly fell off of his head, attempting to puzzle her with a question that he himself had been pondering for the longest of times. This was _his_ home, after all- or the March Hare's, rather, but he never bothered to care for the details. He could choose who was free and not in his own domain, including _Time Himself_, thank you terribly much, so why should he let Little Girl choose the route of the story?

Yet it was terribly fascinating how she tended to rigidly observe tiny formalities while throwing the most obvious of conventions directly out the window. Not that he minded, since Convention was a dreadful guest even on her good days, but the point still had to be made.

Thus and therefore, he decided to try something new, something which no right-minded inhabitant of Wonderland would do, and played by _her _rules. Only a few of them, of course; only to a certain degree, of course; but he explained things in a way that her straightforward little mind could comprehend, kept track of her ideas and _held onto them_. They were barely worth a shilling apiece, but as that made Little Girl worth seven times her previous amount and as she was dropping them about for free, he didn't quite mind.

Little Girl paid attention- that was something. Little Girl listened- a marvel- and Little Girl _pondered_, and didn't even directly address him as being Mad, which was a wonder and a blessing. She was clearly and painfully no inhabitant of Wonderland, but visitors had never been directly outlawed, and her very foreignness made her easier to talk to in a strange way. She was learning to speak with the twists and turns that their language naturally took as if she had been born with it on the tip of her tongue.

In fact, he was even starting to believe that they would be able to get along just spiffily, beginning to seriously consider demanding her name so he could issue her an invitation for another tea party in the future (and only March Hare had ever gotten one before, and only because he _did _technically own the tea set), perhaps even entertaining the notion of _making her a_ _hat_ when she stated that she 'didn't think'.

_Well._

"Then you shouldn't talk," he rejoined, abruptly teetering so precisely on the edge of fury that his very fingernails were curling in.

If there was one thing he couldn't abide, it was an empty mind. With so many entertaining dreams to consider and whimsical fancies to breed, his was always working on overdrive- seeing another's mind empty and bland would send him shuddering and sneering any day of the week. And maybe he had already seen metaphysical proof of her ideas and quips, but those were facts, and what good were facts in proofs?

Little Girl looked deeply offended at his words, but he merely sniffed and turned back to March Hare's most recent antics, ignoring her as she got up and slowly walked away. He _might_ have forgiven her if she had begged pardon, might even have given her better knowledge of the crime if she had tried to turn back, but was it his business if she was too stubborn and brainless to look past the obvious?

… no, it was _not._

-o-

Time did pass, you know, even when it was frozen at 6 o'clock. He liked to walk by the entry to the garden and sneer in at his old friend-turned-enemy, that nasty old fellow. But Time himself couldn't control attention or meaning, and he was to realize that many of those un-hours would slip by like a dream.

Even the Royal Summons passed like a blur, colors and shapes and feelings fading together in confused whirls of color, very much like a memory of a dull and dreary day. Nothing slid into focus until he had set foot in the courtroom and saw her again. He wasn't in much a state of mind for seeing at that point, as he was simply _dreadfully_ terrified of the Queen of Hearts and _positively sure_ that she would recognize him and have his head off in a jiffy, and then who would wear his hat?

Still, when he spotted her neat blue dress through the throng of people, he stole a moment (for surely Time wouldn't mind _one_ moment) to meet her eyes. Little Girl merely looked fascinated by the process, and her eyebrows lifted slightly as she looked down at him. It was terribly comforting to have one person in the crowd who _wouldn't_ abandon his cause in seconds... hopefully. She seemed gullible and naive enough to take the loser's side.

But the cross-examination began and he trembled so terribly that his thoughts sloshed around in his head, would surely have splashed out of his skull if the hat wasn't holding them in. Not even his tea could calm him down in such a state, as he stuttered and hemmed to no end. He'd never had enough of a backbone to stand straight when the world was frowning down on him; he was near due to collapse in a puddle on the ground, liquidized by the Queen's glare.

And really, why did they need him as a witness? He didn't even _like_ tarts, he wanted to argue, treacle could beat it out in a match on _any_ weekday. But the rules of the courtroom were immovable, such that all he could do to bend them was dither and hope. Besides, attempting to calm his thoughts only led his body and face into more grotesque convulsions and shakes. To manage both would be inconceivable.

Yet somehow he got through the questioning, somehow he escaped with his life hanging on by the tiniest of threads. He hid himself behind a cluster of rosebushes near the wall, hat tilted over his eyes and bow tie shriveled around the edges, trembling violently and breathing heavily as attempted to keep his tea (still unfinished) from sloshing over the sides of the cup. In the background, a Cook of some sort was being questioned to no avail, but he couldn't care in the least for no Cook had ever helped _him_ with the bread and butter; in fact, the words calmed him to some degree. He stood up carefully and dusted himself off, right as rain, as the courtroom erupted into chaos and the Queen screamed to the effect of heads being removed, of course; he was nearly out of earshot when the third witness was finally called to the stand.

Alice, he thought, scratching his head with one hand as he waved with the other for a passing nimbus to pause in its drearily roll across the sky, so he might catch a ride back to his house on its wisps. What in Wonderland could an Alice possibly be?


	2. A Series of Adventures

By some strange coincidence, Little Girl was _not_ destined to be a one-time-only occurrence. Despite being a foreigner, a tourist to their land, she managed to sneak her way back into their histories and extravaganzas time and time again.

He didn't always see her, but he did usually hear of her exploits one way or another- people did _so_ love to gossip over their tea. Whenever some major calamity had occurred, some war or adventure or meaningful croquet game, she had been there. Moreover, she had been in the center of the mess, the queen as often as the pawn. Little Girl had found the heart of Wonderland and she was courting it with utmost zeal.

Every now and then he would be involved in said events (he _was_ terribly important, after all), and he would occasionally see her. She would always wear her impractical and frilly dresses with mud trailing along the sleeve and the hem torn beyond repair, one glove missing and the other tucked into her collar. Her sky-blue eyes would be alight with mischief or excitement or even fear as she spotted him in a crowd of creatures and politely inquired how he was doing on that morrow. Sometimes, if she didn't recognize him (for Little Girl had such a great many acquaintances that she sometimes forgot them all), she would inquire instead as to what exactly made _him_ an odd and imaginative person.

He found that she'd usually sneak away if he answered that particular question, as the list of qualities which made him one-of-a-kind was quite possibly infinitely long, though he'd never bothered to measure. But they got on well enough after a handful of mishaps, and she even permitted him to act as a sidekick once or twice. _She_ called him a sidekick, in any case; _he_ knew that he was the hero of those stories.

The focus was always on her, naturally, as her attention decided whether an event would blossom or fade away. Little Girl was an unnatural being for all of her ordinary prose, for she could see possibilities and happenstances that quite escaped anyone else. There were times when she was not there, of course, and life would continue, and he would drink tea and think that the hours were a _little_ more dull when she wasn't around, despite the pink otters who had decided to fly over the table right out of the March Hare's ear.

Days passed as 6 o'clock rotated 'round the sundial's face, and he discovered more of Wonderland than he would ever have guessed existed, both with and without Little Girl. His fascination with her- for she _was_ fascinating after all, a bundle of contradictions and calamities in a neat blue dress- led him to seek what made her return to their world, what drew her in with such precision and care. He even dared to attend a Tea Party with the Queens and Little Girl once, as a Special Advisory, and nearly had his hat knocked off by the excess of capital letters.

He was told in that event that Little Girl was an Alice (which he had certainly never guessed at before), and why could he not address her as was proper? Clearly, he mused at the time, Alices were rare and whimsical creatures. It fit Little Girl well as a definition. In fact, he solemnly awarded her the use of her type's name without an article after she succeeded in re-trapping the Jabberwock, an exercise which needed to be repeated every seven years. She reacted in a politely confused way, surely her favorite response.

Alices changed, it seemed, but very slowly. Alice in particular grew without the use of labeled bottles or food over a long, long period of time, as her limbs extended and her face thinned up. Alice grew more serious with each adventure and took to reflecting darkly for hours on end. She no longer spent every second triumphing and exploring, the others whispered, as she sometimes spent time merely sitting on the mushrooms, _thinking_.

"I have a problem," she announced as she sat down at the end of the table, leaving three chairs empty between herself and the March Hare. He shook his head- Alice _knew_ the restrictions and rules, but always refused to obey them, which made him rather admire her- as he gently poured the remainder of the tea onto his saucer and then deftly slid the empty teapot down the table at her.

The March Hare promptly declared that he hated problems, for he never could remember to carry the digits when doing advanced multiplication; he hid under the table, leaving the two of them as the only ones seated (the Dormouse was sick with a monstrous case of the sniffles that day).

"Wonderful! I do love puzzles," he replied, smiling broadly over at her once she had picked up the teapot and held it upside down.

"_No_, Hatter, that's not what I mean." She put the teapot back down again, sighing deeply, and he reflected that Little Girl was not quite so Little anymore. "This has nothing to do with tricks and illusions, it's a matter of solid facts."

"Facts are liquidizable," he murmured, but then threw his hands up in the air as a motion for her to continue as she wrinkled her nose at him.

"Today is my birthday," she announced, folding her hands most neatly in her lap.

"How terrible- we were just discussing the idea of throwing you an unbirthday party."

"Thank you." She smiled briefly before continuing, but the motion didn't reach her eyes. "I'm thirteen today, Hatter. I'm an _adult_."

"Well, goodness, don't do that," he interjected, his hair sticking out and tie tugging itself straight in his shock. "Whoever would want to become such a dreadful thing?" Adults were such a boring breed, after all, made completely of droning words and stiff suits and oh, he didn't know, he had never made a real habit of observing them. Which meant that he didn't know what they looked like- which meant that they could be surrounding him at that very moment and he _wouldn't even know_-

"Hatter! Pay attention!" Alice snapped as he started shrinking under the table (perhaps March Hare would know the color of an Adult, at least). "I don't have a choice, you know. It isn't a conscious decision."

He snorted in absolute derision at that, pulling himself back up into his chair and taking a biscuit from a nearby tin. "Well, decisions don't mean a thing, Alice. What good will you do thinking about an idea if you aren't putting it into action? Words," he hypothesized, balancing the biscuit on the rim of his hat, "are entirely unreliable things."

"Oh, you're not helping at all!" she cried, stamping her foot under the table (March Hare screamed that he had done nothing to warrant a stampede). "You never _do_ talk sense, and neither do the Twins or the Cat or--"

"_Sense?_" he replied scathingly, nearly biting his nose off along with the word. "Sense is my _essence_, and if you think otherwise you must be quite _dense!_"

She didn't reply to that, only looking down at her cup and muttering that she was 'so _sick_ of tea'.

He apologized to himself on her behalf later, as she seemed to forget the courtesy, but still felt rather sore about the situation. Most unfortunately, Fascination was tied in directly with Irritation. That irritation only increased when, one day, she disappeared and didn't return.

That was when things became not quite peachy-keen.


	3. Maybe Someday

_Movie comes out at midnight... here's some guesswork on my part now!_

* * *

As a matter of fact, disappearing and never returning again could not be accomplished in a single day, for however would anyone know that the person was not to show up for brunch a week in advance? No, no, no- it took thirteen days for anyone to become suspicious, a month and a half for words to be said on the matter, and a full season before the general opinion was that Alice had left them forever, undoubtedly dead due to a dread disease.

And what did he think of this strange and unexpected (or _at the very least _unwarranted) occurrence? Well, he didn't think on it much at all. He decided that the rumors were simple nonsense, not even elucidating nonsense, and _of course _Alice would eventually return because what else did she ever do? Perhaps she had jumped forward in time a bit, perhaps she was off adventuring in lands so far away that words were said upside down, but she would eventually return, if only to brag. Bragging was a trait all Little Girls excelled at, he knew.

After two seasons had passed, well, he started to worry a teeny-tiny bit. Not that he thought something had happened to her- pshaw! She was an Alice! What could harm one of those preposterous creatures?- but really, what if she returned and didn't find him? Wouldn't that be dreadful? So he stopped his adventuring, cut off his exploring, and took to simply lounging about at the tea parties, wondering when she would grace them with her tardy presence. Surely someday, surely soon; that was his motto those days.

Precisely a year after Alice disappeared (these things were easy to pinpoint after the fact, contrariwise to his earlier thought), the Red Queen made a statement and Wonderland went to pieces.

Well- completely disconnected pieces, anyway. It had been rather broken already.

It was announced that the entire world was to be under her control now, and anyone who didn't agree was invited to remove their own head, or else it would be done _at their expense_ by the court. It was also announced that any person with an allegiance to the White Queen's court was to be delivered to the castle at once, or they would be turned into a bloody hedgehog and used for middle-class croquet. Whether 'bloody' was used to strengthen the sentence or was simply a fact was not specified.

These statements were in no way unusual; the Red Queen made them about three times a week. However, exactly a year after Alice had left, she somehow came up with the backing to support her words. People were dragged away from their houses, the price of hedgehogs plummeted, and the hatter found himself in quite a predicament.

He had refused to align himself with either side of the perpetual war in the past, as both Red and White Queen seemed nonsensically disturbing to him, but both sides had decided to recruit him with utmost zeal. He would've been flattered to a pink degree, normally, but he simply _couldn't_ enlist because what if Alice showed up and he was too busy marching aimlessly to catch up on the times with her, with tea?

He dithered. He made sharp and two-sided comments. He played the part of a politician picture-perfect, even, but both women just told him to shut up as they glared at each other across the table and, _well_. He didn't take orders kindly, of course.

So he decided to earn the title of Mad, rambled and frothed, made hats out of pork-pies. The Queens were disgusted and left him alone. Mostly. Mostly was enough. He was almost grateful to be out of the conspiracies and worries, to be allowed to sit by himself at the table, an acquaintance or two at his side, musing the day away and ignoring current events with utmost pleasure.

Except...

Except that only a fool who was blind and deaf would not notice the changes that were slowly warping themselves around Wonderland. The sky grew darker and the trees more twisted, the usually bold and sporting denizens started keeping to themselves. Propaganda was nailed to trees, rocks, and water, letters scrawled in ink as red as blood. There were too many words which no one was allowed to say, too many forbidden concepts and shifting eyes. The word games, the playful races and galas and adventures, where had they gone? He mused on why everyone seemed so grim, so... adult.

He couldn't even make himself surprised at the word, since so many more terrifying concepts were present in his mind.

He started getting paler due to lack of exposure to the sun; it was only shining brightly on the castle, it seemed. The whiteness of his skin made the orange that seeped through his pores more vibrant and striking, marking him evermore as mad and unapproachable, surely the best way to stay safe. Since when had he wanted safety? Hadn't he considered it boring before?

And really, how could others call _him_ mad when the world itself knew no patterns of logic at all?

It almost made him want to act, as Time decided to maybe let the months glide by when the minutes couldn't pass. It almost made him want to march out there and knock some sense into- well, he didn't want to go anywhere near the Red Queen, really. Maybe he could knock some sense into one of her pigs. His kind of sense, anyway, his glorious reasoning that stood about four levels above what other mere mortals could understand.

Someday, maybe. It amused him to spend time on silent daydreams that would let him give life to his urges. Someday... when Alice returned.

Alice had become a mythical creature by the time three years had passed. He barely remembered the little things- had her dress been green or blue or purple? Which was her favorite chair?- but he remembered her conversation, remembered her smile and her eyes. Her spirit and sense made him sure that she hadn't simply been a figment of his imagination, a dream of a better time before the world grew dark, dreary, dangerous. Alice existed, even when her name was forbidden amongst people like himself. She'd be back, and then what conversations they would have!

Those years, it was all he could do to sit and dream. Someday. Someday, things would change.


	4. Choosing a Side

"Hatter!"

"No."

Mallymkun Dormouse sat up straight in shock at his dull, terse remark, her whiskers quivering in unrestrained outrage- he assumed. It was certainly possible that something else had happened; perhaps a breeze had started? He dipped his pinkie finger into his tea and held it under the table to test.

"What d'ya mean, no? You don't even know what I'm saying! Eh? Right? C'mon, then!" She danced on her chair furiously, her black eyes as tiny as pinpricks. Mallymkun was a conundrum, truly- she was not half as mad as himself or Hare in the conventional sense of the word. Foolhardy, yes; occasionally idiotic, yes; but insane? She seemed far too straightforward for that.

"Now, don't be absurd," he replied jovially, twisting his teacup around and eyeing the empty sugar bowl to his left with regret. "Why, what you want to say is so painfully obvious that I don't even need tea leaves to figure it out."

This made Hare crack up into jagged bits of high-pitched laughter which were certainly the opposite of infectious. He would have been afraid of cutting himself on them if there wasn't so much broken china on the table already. Which reminded him; he'd heard that China from Up There had beautiful flowers. Hmm.

"Yes, I quite agree," he said, gracing his mad acquaintance with a bob of his head (in fact, he thought that the tulips were coming in quite well so far, but he had enough arguments on his plate as it was); then he turned back to the fuming dormouse. "You've started every one of the last twenty conversations with the same line, why should I expect anything even slightly original?"

"You _must_ join the White Queen's side," she snarled, going red under her whiskers. He dearly hoped that she wasn't about to blush; such actions were most unbecoming in mice.

He rolled his eyes towards the heavens. "_Must_? Strong word you chose there, Mallymkun. Perhaps Might would work better, or even May..." He tilted his head to the side, tapping his chin. "Words that start with 'm' are rather lovely. Marvelous. Malleable. Magnificent!"

"You've lost him now," Hare commented from between the two nonchalantly, having eventually recovered from his laughing fit.

Dormouse huffed impatiently. "I can see _that_."

He wasn't really paying attention to their words- his mind was too full of his own. "Magical, mountainous, mumbling, murmuring, muttering, morose, multiple-"

"But you're supposed to be convincing him too," she continued after taking a moment to stare impolitely. "Otherwise, we have no match for the Knave-"

"Knave!" Hare screeched, ducking under the table.

"- mundane, marginal, macabre, mightyandmorphingandmutant, moldedandmanipulative-"

"He's not here," Dormouse said impatiently, though he noticed through the stream of 'm's that she still pulled out her hat-pin and ran her paw over the blade.

"Well, he might as well be," Hare mumbled, his voice quite muffled (as it came from under his chair). "After all, Alice is coming soon."

"- memorableandmusicaland_Alice?_" The name yanked him straight out of his obsessive 'm' counting. He stared at the other two, eyes wide, then sat bolt upright and looked around franticly. "Where?"

Both animals turned to look at him blankly. Dormouse then snorted, but Hare helpfully replied with a "too early."

Which was dreadfully disappointing. Though really, he had to calm his expectations first; Alice had grown to be twelve feet tall and capable of eating hat-pins for breakfast in his mind. He wasn't quite mad enough to believe that _that_ would occur. Or was he? She _did_ have a habit of growing and shrinking, after all.

"But she'll be here on Frabjous Day," Dormouse insisted, sticking her sword into a nearby cake. "Absolem showed us, so it has to happen. She's going to kill the Jabberwock!"

Which was incredibly fascinating and perspective-changing news, certainly. He tugged at the brim of his hat in thought, humming under his breath. It was simply terrible when politics took over the world and there were only different brands of evil to choose from, but what more could one ask for?

The enemy of his enemy could perhaps become his associate, if not his friend-

"Tell me," he asked softly, "does the White Queen take stationary conscripts?"

-o-

He'd served the White Queen, once upon a time.

That was back when he was young, when age actually existed; that was back before Little Girls could prance into the Underland and rename it on a whim. Those were blurry days, unreal days, _happy_ days. Perhaps. Happy was always a hard concept to define.

He'd only had one personality those days, one voice, one occupation. Tea had been an occasional luxury, not a constant to keep him tied to life. He'd been able to follow one train of thought consistently. He'd associated mainly with humans, rather than magical creatures and objects.

There had been no wars, no bloody decrees, no orange seeping out from under his nails. A different king had ruled those days, and the Princesses, young women both red and white, were easy to please. He had made hats, day in and day out, and had never left his village.

How _boring_.

-o-

He hated his dreams, as they reminded him of the past and he hated to remember hated to recall. Therefore, he was happy to wake up.

Taking in the scenery was the same every time, but he still made the effort. The house in the back was always still falling apart from the last time that the Knave had decided to make a statement (the Knave's statements were usually unnecessarily loud and crude, he knew); the table would still be cluttered with its eternal mess of decorative plates and treats, both delicious and dry; his two rambling companions would still be there (though the Dormouse took off on 'quests' half as often as not), arguing fiercely more than sixty percent of the time.

The tiny human walking up to the table didn't quite fit in the picture, though.

He squinted down the table at the newcomer, wondering what kind of trick she might try to play. She seemed like no kind of pawn, though, as she was neither red nor white in spirit; the girl looked bewildered, not calculating. She surveyed the land about her in a way that almost seemed detached, as if she was confidant that nothing could harm her.

And when she looked up at the table and met his eyes, there was something about her-

He smiled, his pure joy stretching out to fill every stitch of the fabric of his clothing and charging up through each individual hair.

Alice was finally back.

* * *

_Holy cow, you reviewers are AMAZING. In fact, you're just about as cool as the movie was (and it was pretty darn cool)._

_Thanks to all of you, and I hope that you continue to enjoy! From here on out, the story will run alongside the plot of the movie, though I'll be adding my own bits in. Don't be afraid to speak up if I ever get something wrong!  
_


	5. She's Always Different

She was different, of course. He had expected no less, for Alice was never the same person twice in a row, despite all her claims to consistency. Yet there was still that sense of spirit and control and, well, there weren't really words for what made her different, for some things were perfectly indescribable. Hats, for instance.

He found himself in front of her suddenly and blinked, wondering how he had gotten there. His socks seemed to have been drenched in tea in the process- how odd. He didn't care to think much on it, though, for there was an _Alice_ right in front of him! Dormouse was saying some kind of nonsense about her not being right, which made absolute sense as he had rather thought she might be mad, but his opinion still had to be stated if it was to bear any weight at all.

"He's absolutely Alice! I'd know you anywhere," he managed to splutter, though perhaps the words got mixed up and duplicated somewhere on the way from his mind to his mouth; certainly Alice looked confused instead of insulted and riled up, the desired effect. Well, perhaps the journey had been long. He could make allowances for an _Alice._ Johns and Jacks had nothing on them, no matter how many giants they might slay. Slay? Oh, but he was getting ahead of himself again, and Time wasn't helping at _all_.

He mentioned as much to the tiny but Not-Quite-Little Girl as he cheerfully picked her up and escorted her down the table. And _really_, Time was the _pickiest_ of fellows, he had only killed him twice! Such and so forth and on he went, his thoughts and light conversation jumbling up in his head, spilling out in such a confused mess that he supposed it was only proper for Alice to look almost put off. She must have gotten completely out of practice with the Underland way of speech- or Wonderland, as she had dubbed it. How terribly odd; he'd never had such trouble remembering the right name before.

"Raspberry jam- my favorite," Hare suggested, holding up a small pot with a missing lid. Which was silly, honestly. He wanted _out_ of a jam, not _into_ one.

"Time can be funny in dreams."

He almost didn't recognize her voice, it had changed so since he'd seen her six years previously. But there she was, finally attending, looking up at him with her ever-serious expression. Yet all he could think was that it was a dreadfully strange statement to make.

So he made vague, wispy remarks in reply, then brightened up. "But now you're back, you see, and we need to get on to the Frabjous Day!"

A flash of red, and then Alice was looking back and forth between all three of them, her forehead all wrinkled up. It was truly a terrible bother every time he, well, lost himself that way- just another price that needed to be paid for joining the White Queen instead of remaining independent. Undying loyalty had its cost.

He rather thought that he might snap Alice back into her usual, saucy self through explaining it all, but Chessur beat him to it. "Down with he Bloody Big Head," the cat translated, materializing onto his favorite chair at the other side of the table and grinning lazily over at him (he had to frown at that- hadn't they taken the invitation away from Chess?).

Besides- Downal wyth Bluddy Behg Hid, if they were going to use the _proper_ language. He squinted down at the cup in front of him as the others piled on the propaganda, trying to remember why he had let himself get sucked into such a tremendous mess- oh. _Right._

"Come, come," he called, trying for attention and attempting to regain control (only a quarter of it was given to him, of course). "We simply must commence with the slaying and such." And Time, that bloody nuisance, needed to get off his high horse and remember the three 'L's; listen, learn, and let others get on with the story.

Alice was staring at him in that suspicious manner again. Had he been saying some of that out loud? He lost track of his mouth more often when there weren't any words worth saying, or at least when the words which wanted to be said had gotten lost 'round the bend, what a pity. Wasn't it supposed to be _easier_ to concentrate when Alice was around?

"All this talk of blood and killing has put me off my tea," Chessur muttered, curling his tail lazily.

Nuisancesome cat. Traitorous cat. He mimicked the cat's lazy grin in his mind, his eyes darkening with the weight of the sarcasm. "The entire world is falling to ruin, and poor Chessur's off his tea."

"What happened that day was not my fault!"

He _really_ needed to tie his mouth shut, perhaps, if that could keep the snarky comments in. He usually didn't bother with restricting them, but- but- there was an _Alice_ there to impress! Though she had been suspiciously silent throughout the entire affair. Though she had almost seemed like a boring, tired, disbelieving, restrictive, disinterested _grown-up_.

Had Mallymkun been right?

No. She _was_ Alice. He could believe it.

Of course, the entirety of his reflection was mirrored by a completely unrelated shouting match that took place mostly on his part, run by that temper he could barely manage to control. Mallymkun succeeded in capturing his attention, luckily, and he just barely caught the reins and yanked his anger back in and--

"Thank you. I'm fine," he reassured the dormouse flatly, staring down and tracing the stain on the cloth in front of him with a single thimble. He held back the shuddering with a care.

"What's wrong with you, Tarrant?" Chessur oozed, flicking his ears to the left. He glared at that remark- he had given up his given name after, well, after that thingy that he didn't like to think nor dream about and now he was going to chop off that line of thought. It wasn't all that hard to call him Hatter, really. It was who he was. "You used to be the life of the party," the cat continued. "You used to do the best Futterwacken in all of Witzend."

But Chessur's first question was a decent one, at least. For so long he had been waiting for Alice, but now that she was here, now she was simply... disappointing.

Surely not! Surely she would return to her usual self with just a bit of time. He could be patient. Maybe. Maybe he just needed a distraction. Hmm, he liked those.

"On the Frabjous Day, when the White Queen once again wears the crown," he hypothesized. "On that day, I shall Futterwacken... _vigorously_."

His idea of a distraction didn't work _quite_ so well as the actual approach of the Knave, he had to admit, as barking echoed in the distance and the table threw itself into an excited state of mass chaos. He had hardly a moment to lose, so he shrunk Alice (he wouldn't have minded seeing her a bit bigger but, well, circumstances arose, he knew) and stuffed her into the nearest available hidey-hole, the conveniently unbroken teapot directly in front of his seat. Her half-hearted attempts to resist were encouraging to see, even if they were slightly pathetic in and of themselves. Then he merely had to slip into his least favorite guise, that of the conventional madman.

It was such a boring facade, ugh. Oh, those who bragged that their minds were slightly less fractured liked to think that insanity meant high-pitched laughter, nonsensical songs, utter obliviousness and plenty of bad puns. Preposterous. There was a time and a place for everything, he knew. Unfortunately, his time and place were currently located thirteen years back and in a room with hardly a window at all, quite out of his reach.

He'd rather like to put the Knave out of his misery- but that could wait for another day, when his temper wasn't already rearing and pawing at its restraints.

And then the Knave was off as quickly as he had appeared, useful as a distraction but a waste nonetheless. Chessur had disappeared during the proceedings at some point in time. Coward and Cat and Chesire all started with a 'C', but 'M' was still more interesting by far. Or perhaps he could try 'H', for Hatter, of course, or Hare--

Hare himself was hissing at him, pointing vigorously at the teapot. Oh, the girl. _Alice_. He kept forgetting, as she seemed so convinced that she could act like someone else. He made her a new dress in apology- he did dearly like working in miniature, as the stitching took so much less time- and she actually looked curious and interested for the first time in, well, ever.

And lovely. But it would be hard _not_ to look lovely when three inches tall.

"Best take her to the White Queen," Hare suggested, glancing over at the forest again, every inch of his body trembling. "She'll be safe there." He wasn't at all surprised when the creature suddenly grabbed the object nearby and yelled "Spoon!", as objects needed defining every now and then, but Alice looked rather shocked.

She'd never keep up while walking and would be squashed in a pocket most definitely, so he picked the option which was certainly the better choice anywho, plucking his hat off of his head. "Your carriage, m'lady!"

Alice looked skeptical and twisted her nose ever-so-slightly. Finally, a decent response! But her words were boring and predictable and a question yet again, as the majority of her statements had been. _The hat_. He was discouraged, he knew it. But he could still make himself look perfectly chipper, which was interesting. Well, in truth, he was quite looking forward to the chance to converse with her _properly_. Perhaps she was merely being polite as the guest in so large a party. Perhaps, he hoped.

"Anyone can go by horse or rail," he replied, answering her question, "but the best way to travel is by hat." He ran the words over in his mind in five different languages, tapped his chin. "Have I made a rhyme?"

He had to brush off Dormouse's transparent efforts to join the group, unfortunately. She was being quite the pain, and he couldn't truly tell why. Then again, she had always been attention-seeking. How unlike a mouse. But back to Alice, back to their imminent departure.

"Fairfarren, all," he called over his shoulder, quite aware that, with Alice newly arrived, things would assuredly get all heated up in no time at all. He wasn't particularly sure when he would see his two mad associates again, and they certainly deserved all the luck they could get.

As for him- well, he now had an Alice just on top of his head, ready to be interrogated as needed. How much more luck could one need?

* * *

_You guys are astounding. I mean, wow. Thanks to all reviewers and readers, as always!  
_

_Also, T.T. Sutherland's book adaptation of Alice in Wonderland is **awesome **and has practically all the lines from the movie in it and it's so useful when trying to recall which character said what. Thank you, T.T. Sutherland.  
_


	6. Simple Reasoning

The Tulgey Woods were usually a peaceful place, active and green and full of inquisitive creatures. In the old days they had been the most joyous of locations, open territory for any Underlander who happened to wander by. They were still unusually peaceful for the current day and age, but he knew better than to think ahead of the safe green comfort of the trees.

The weight that was Alice sitting on the brim of his hat transformed into a blue leaf that might have drifted down for a rest as he wandered along, for his thoughts were galumphing around most merrily without him. The Woods were useful for thinkers and dreamers, as the merest wisps of imagination could wind themselves around branches above to mingle with those ponderings which had long ago been left behind. So many of them were bright and whimsical, but his thoughts were taking on a darker tone that day.

How many more sunfalls until Frabjous Day arrived? It was always harder to count when they hadn't yet occurred. How many more dusks until such weighty things could stop holding him down?

"Twas brillig, and the slimy toves did gyre and gamble in the wabe," he muttered to himself thoughtfully, staring out into the trees ahead- Outlandish did wonders for jumbling up a hatter's thoughts. "All mimsy were the borogroves, and the mome raths outgrabe."

His hat tilted to the left, and then there was a blurry thing swinging off to his side and oh, it was Alice again. He squinted to bring her into focus, for how could one speak when their face was a pale smear of color?

"What was that?" she asked clearly, hanging there from a ribbon and kicking her feet. He had a sudden desire to swat at her, and he barely stopped his hand from doing just that.

"What was what," he told her firmly, for getting one's Whos, Whats, Whens, Wheres, Whys, and How-do-you-dos in order was terribly important. She still appeared curious, though, so he dutifully recited the verse all the way through and with _no_ unwanted additions, no matter how interesting they might have been. "It's all about you, you know," he reminded the Alice cheerfully once it was finished, pondering on whether some bothersome small talk would help to draw her out.

"I'm not slaying anything." He paused and turned his eyes (turning his head would only serve to swing her around as well), confirming that that was _indeed _still the Alice; a familiar, stubborn expression was clouding her face, so who else could it be? She huffed a bit. "I don't slay. So- put it out of your mind."

"Mind," he repeated, quite bewildered. Dear, dear, that was entirely unexpected and goodness, it almost seemed that the Red Queen had already gotten to her and injected her with some sort of depressive-and-contrary potion. Of course, the thought was ridiculous even for _him_ (and he didn't use the term 'ridiculous' heavily); the Bloody Big Head would've just cut her off at the neck. So, perhaps Dormouse was right and she was, indeed, an impostor? Curiouser and curiouser. He plucked her up and deposited her nearby to gauge a reaction, turning as if to leave.

"Wait- you can't leave me here!" she called out, which was, well, incorrect. She was dozens of times smaller than him by a _baker's_ standard, he'd be able to out-pace her in seconds if he wanted to. He didn't, mind, but she didn't know that. But really and truly, her statement was, to put it bluntly...

_Annoying._

"You don't slay," he muttered darkly, glaring down at the girl as his sleeves and pant-legs started to shrivel inward. She leaned back, looking surprised- good! She ought to! "Do you have any idea what the Red Queen has done? _You don't slay._"

She frowned, looking hurt from inside, which bothered him somewhat- but he was still annoyed- but she looked frustrated as well. "I couldn't if I wanted to," she stated, lifting her chin and trying to look down at him (despite being three inches tall), and, well, she wasn't an impostor, not with a move like that. She wasn't the wrong Alice. She had simply changed. How terribly, incredibly disappointing.

"You're not the same as you were before," he accused her- perhaps, once she knew, she could fix it (oh, he'd like that!). She was so much... smaller? Lesser? More diminished? It was a dreadful kind of difficult, attempting to find an adjective which wasn't related to size. In fact, he needed to cycle through fifteen or so before discovering an applicable one. "You were much... muchier. You've lost your muchness."

Which perhaps sounded slightly more sensible in his head, but what fun would that be?

"My muchness?" she asked, looking up at him with some mixture of confusion and hurt. A decent response! She had every right to be ashamed, so long as she recognized the fact and tried to fix it.

"In there," he explained, trying to point towards her heart but ending up gesturing at her stomach (her size was becoming a difficulty indeed). "Something's missing." And once she knew, he told himself gloatingly, why, then everything would become right as rain and they would get along to whole slaying business and _then_ they could have tea again, yes?

But Alice merely frowned a bit, tilting her head down and refusing to look at him. He sighed and turned away, wondering whether perhaps it would be better to leave her alone and contemplate individual specks of dirt instead. She had been a solitary kind of creature before, after all- maybe she just needed her time to think. He could approve of daydreams.

"Tell me what the Red Queen has done," she suddenly shouted, stopping him directly in his furtive steps away. He hunched his shoulders at the words, not quite daring to turn and face her.

"It's not a pretty story-"

"Tell me anyway."

And he couldn't help it, at that point. The memories broke their chains and flung themselves at him, unrelenting, maddening, furious in their waves of blood.

-o-

He'd left that village eventually, either before or after he went mad- he never could remember which. But he returned, sometimes, for festivities or grand events. He still made the very best hats, after all.

And that time- oh, that time! It had been ever so recently, too. The others had practically dragged him along as they yelled that he couldn't _live_ at the tea table, it wasn't _proper_ after all. Never mind that no one cared about 'proper' in Underland. Never mind that his definition might as well have been 'antonym of proper'. But he'd arrived, and then he'd stayed. He'd even enjoyed the dancing, almost, though he didn't have enough spirit to Futterwacken, not quite.

But the Jabberwock could only be bound down for seven years at a time, and he'd lost track of the minutes. And how had the Red Queen soothed him, cajoled him? Did Alice remember what had happened before?

It was only luck that he lived. It was only luck which let him escape with the White Queen on the harried reasoning that she was important, wasn't she? He constantly told himself that. If he believed it was luck, not fate, he wouldn't feel so incredibly guilty about all the others who fell.

It never did rain on that place. The soot never did manage to wash away. Maybe that was why his memories insisted on staying as well.

-o-

"_Hatter!"_

He snapped back to life at the sound of her voice, but it wasn't Dormouse this time. It was a Little Girl who used to be his only friend; he was ecstatic to see her again, if only for a moment.

He remembered his position then, of course. He remembered how far they all had fallen. "I'm fine," he automatically reassured her, touching his hat for comfort.

"Are you?" Alice asked, sounding worried.

He glanced down towards her for a moment, surprised at her concern. The majority of them only looked after the present those days, letting wounds of the past fester as needed. It was all they could do to fix the future, after all. For a moment, he wanted to ask her why- why had she changed, why had she decided to become such a needlessly restricted person? It so rarely occurred to him to dwell on the past.

Unfortunately, his ears then twitched with a sound that needed identifying. Bells? No. Bagpipes? Certainly not. Faint barking?

"Did you hear that?" he whispered, looking up and down quickly (what would the use of left and right be?). "I'm certain I heard something."

"What?" Alice seemed nervous, but rather more confidant this time. Perhaps she could get her muchness back after all?

A flash of red far off to the side, not a natural color at all. "Red Knights!" he replied, because why not provide her with information if she was going to be useful someday?

Ah, but escaping might be a good idea. He scooped Alice up again, ignoring any muffled protests she might choose to make, then sprinted back through the trees- no direction, no plan, just running until he reached his last breath. It could almost be a game, then, something he could pretend to enjoy. He'd have enjoyed it if Underland's last hope wasn't riding with him, he thought.

When they reached the edge of the forest, though, he knew that they hadn't a chance. The Knights would be faster than them once out on open land. So he decided to play a logical man, for once, weighing the options. Besides, who said that his scale played fair?

Confused, hesitant, non-slaying Alice? Not terribly useful or important, though he'd like to think contrariwise.

Alice who could be talked around and in circles into trying slaying out for just a day, anyway? Terribly handy.

"Go south to Trotter's Bottom," he muttered to the tiny woman after making a split-second decision, trying not to look directly at her. Perhaps she would only be relieved at the chance to escape safely, which wasn't the correct spirit but could be useful, perhaps perhaps. "The White Queen's castle is just beyond. Hold down tightly!" he added, regretfully pulling his hat off of his head and offering it as a ride.

Alice complied, though she made a few noises as if she wanted to say something, and he flung the hat out towards safety before giving himself a chance to think about it. Which was a good thing, too; he rather adored that hat. He was instantly terribly sad to part with it (his jacket sagged in sympathy).

It would be terribly sad to part with his head, too, he reflected as the Red Knights burst out of the forest. Alack and alas, there was naught else to be done- the Red Knights were particularly stupid at times and would simply keep searching out towards Alice if he didn't distract them.

"Down with the Bloody Red Queen!" he shouted, grinning maniacally in order to get the total effect. That got their full attention, naturally, and they surrounded him at once, jabbering all over each other and jabbing him away from the forest with incredible speed. It seemed that he was due for a court appearance, and he didn't even have his hat.

He missed it already. What a terrible situation.

* * *

_Kind of slow-ish, but it's necessary for character and plot development and certainly interesting. Next chapter shall be more exciting (especially as the movie doesn't cover it). Thanks so much to all reviewers and readers, as always!_


	7. Elucidation

_And now we up the rating to T for darker and slightly more violent themes. You have been warned._

* * *

The march towards the Red Queen's castle was boring, unfortunately. The Red Knights refused to rest _or_ let him make pleasant conversation about the state of the weather and how dull it had been recently. He would have offered to give a running commentary, in order to dispel the boredom, but the castle itself was not all that far away- it would not have been worth the effort.

Once they got there, however, an unpleasant surprise stood before them in the form of the Knave of Hearts, Ilosovic Stayne himself. The preposterously tall man glared down at him, tapping one impatient hand against his leg.

"Lost your head, did you?" he finally asked, sneering.

"Ages and ages ago," the hatter happily replied, mixing together a smile and a leer for a proper response.

"Well then, I suppose we'll just need to find _different_ things for you to lose."

Which didn't bode very well for his future. At least his hat was safe. So, while the knights yanked him towards a dark and dingy staircase with the Knave in the lead, he busied himself in burying his consciousness deep into his mind, far past where the nerves could feed information, far past where physical cares mattered at all.

If he was going to be tortured, he decided, he'd at least let his body take the brunt of it all. His mind could keep safely aside, wrapped tightly in memories from happier days.

-o-

He ached. This state of being had not changed in the past... forever, perhaps? He'd lost track of the shadows across the walls. Still, duration mattered not, it was merely a truth- he ached with a bone-deep perpetuity, he could feel every sharp and lingering pain. But he had not let anything slip, that was what mattered. And he'd survived as well- maybe that would be a bonus? It would depend on what the future was hiding away.

"The Queen wants to see you," a soldier grunted, grabbing his tie and yanking him forward roughly. For a brief, intangible moment, one of his oldest fears, half forgotten, flashed through his head and turned the insides of his skull to jelly as his limbs quivered endlessly- what if she remembered the song that he had once sung? What if she ordered his long-delayed beheading to commence?

Then Time caught up with him again and he started to guffaw, which nicely disturbed the guards who were escorting him down the hallway. Perhaps he would be beheaded, but truly! If he was, it would be for a better reason than a silly tune. Any kind of comfort was a welcome one.

He chortled himself out of the dungeon, giggled his way through the halls, and got into such chuckles in the corridors that one of the guards stomped at his foot with a muttered curse. That jolted his mood right back into a somber place- pain wasn't something he could laugh off all that easily, and the new one was a mere reminder of all the other ones which lingered, only half-forgotten. So he tried to distract himself again, withdrawing further into his mind as they marched along towards his certain doom.

A long shadow and elegant black shoes meant the Knave, who disappeared into a room after telling the guards to wait behind. They shuffled their feet and muttered complaints as they did so, which would've given him hope if he weren't already doomed. As it was, the fact threw him into further despair- who would tell the others that the Red Queen's servants were already close to revolting? Not just in the disgusting sense of the word, mind.

But finally there was a muffled call and the door swung open as orderly as it could, entirely the opposite of what Underland stood for. He shuffled into the room ahead of the others, keeping his head down- perhaps the Queen would become distracted and not remember he was there if he didn't meet her eyes? It was a cowardly thought. He was torn between loving and despising it.

The Red Queen was shouting something unimportant, he assumed: it didn't have the word 'head' in it, at least. He stared at his feet, noting that a splotch of faded red was covering the side of one boot. He'd have to ask the White Queen for her secret stain removal at some point. She had the best formula in the land for the task; how she'd discovered it, he didn't want to know.

Oh. Did the Bloody Big Head want a response?

"I've been considering things that begin with the letter 'M'," he volunteered, not really glancing up; "moron, mutiny, murder, malice." Unfortunately, he had to stop at that point, since the next word in the sequence was 'marsupial' and it didn't _quite_ fit the theme.

"We're looking for an 'A' word now," she snapped in reply, probably glaring. He _really_ didn't care to look and check, for her head was truly monstrously huge; what if it exploded all over him? No amount of stain removal would serve to fix his clothes then. "Where is Alice?"

In any far-off place in Underland besides under _her_ dreadful excuse for a nose, he'd assume. Unfortunately, he could at least understand that that wasn't an acceptable answer. "Who? That wee little boy?" He almost smiled at remembering that old joke- almost. "I wouldn't know."

"What if I take off your head- will you know then?" It really depended on whether she was using 'you' to refer to his body, head, or hat; why, one of the three wasn't even present! He snickered at the thought (for at least his better third was safe), which resulted in the Queen glaring. "Stop that!" she subsequently snapped.

Clearly his evasive answers were not going to gain him time at all. The hatter sighed, fighting down his aches and pains and steeling himself to look up and tell the Red Queen that she could go bathe in a pot of stew for all he cared, she simply wouldn't get anything useful out of him.

That was when he noticed that there were three humans before him, not two. The newcomer looked remarkably like a Little Girl who had blown up like a balloon. And what in the name of The Great Space-Time Conundrum (quite a marvelous bridge which he had traversed once or twice) did Alice think she was doing?

Naturally, her being there changed the stakes drastically. He took a shallow breath and came up with a terrible escape plan on the spot, since escaping was not proving to be Alice's forte. The only good point about his plan was that it was simple to implement- all he had to do was convince himself that it was Opposite Day already.

And _of course_ it was Opposite Day already because if it wasn't then their brilliant plans wouldn't be going to ruins; contrariwise, they would all have made it to the White Queen with oodles of time to spare; and besides the fact, that wasn't tea staining his socks, so how much more opposite could one get? Thank goodness it was Opposite Day- his pain was already being chased away.

"Your head is repulsive and only gigantic due to some defect you have, nothing to be proud of, and certainly no living creature would ever deign to use even the most oily scrap of cloth to hat it," he stated gleefully at that point. Since it was Opposite Day (for him, at least), the statement twisted itself around into something flattering and oozilicious.

"Hat it?" the Queen repeated, sounded interested. A quick glance revealed that the Knave looked disgusted, Alice bewildered, and that the Queen was certainly none the wiser of his _true _words.

"Not I," he replied grandly before diving into a series of Outlander-profanity-laced explanations of _exactly why_ she didn't deserve a hat. He casually mentioned the fact that even being dragged through everlasting fire by Stayne's team of horses wouldn't convince him to so much as touch a wisp of hair on the Queen's head- that bought him freedom of mobility, his hands and feet unrestrained- and from there he forced himself slightly closer, just to look the part.

"Because there's no possibility in the heavens that a bonnet would suit you," he muttered, mostly to himself at that point, "not with a shape like that, and a boater would be out of the question with the heat we've been having, or, or a cloche..." Hats tumbled through his head with explanations and reasonings and pshaws attached, hats of all styles and colors, hats he'd made before and hats which had yet to be and hats that had not even been imagined yet oh so many hats and hats and-

"Hatter!" The word was muffled and hidden, but true. He froze in place, frantically regathering all of the hats which had fallen out of his head- what would he be without his trade?- and trying to ignore the fact that, if Alice was still on his side, it couldn't possibly be Opposite Day at all.

"Fez," he repeated, smiling weakly down at both young woman, one sensibly odd, one so violent that she was mad. Strangely enough, he almost felt that a fez would work with the Red Queen's hair... a simple one, pure black. His loyal side screamed in fury that he daren't even _think_ along those lines, _really now_, while a tiny, whiny voice insisted that it was art, just art! He had to do it for the sake of his trade, that was all.

He considered telling the voices to shush since he really had enough madness to deal with at the moment, thanks kindly. A sharp stab of pain shooting up through his arm told him to phrase his words more carefully.

The Queen commanded that the others leave (Alice tried to catch his eye twice while exiting- he ignored her, hoping she'd take the hint, and also pushed aside the twinge in his chest at his action). She then turned to him with a haughty glare, imperious, untouchable. "The guards will show you to a workroom once you've taken my measurements," the Queen stated, tossing her head to the side, all the better to stare at him with one eye. "I expect the _best work possible_, Hat Man... you know the punishment for anything less."

His hands shook from more than their aches as he drew out the tape measure that he kept coiled around his belt, approaching her hair with dread. He briefly hallucinated the idea of killing her then, right there- but it was the Jabberwock they had to defeat. She'd only be an annoying mortal after Frabjous Day.

Besides, he wasn't sure how much blood he could stand on his hands. It was so dreadfully _red_.

He took down the numbers in such a few short seconds that he was _sure_ Time was hiding around the corner, playing tricks again. Then it merely remained for the guards to tramp back into the room, seize him under the armpits, and drag him back out, with the Queen shouting in the background that her page was _late again how __**dare**__ he?_

He didn't pay too much attention. By that point, he was entirely fixated on hats.

It seemed only natural that he was finally set down in a room, fastened neatly to the wall, and then left alone with wondrously fashionable materials galore. It was only right that he should let his hands zip around the ribbons, the rolls of fabric, the buttons and feathers and felt, fastening and sewing and spinning them all around like he hadn't done most truthfully in years and years. It seemed only natural that Time should finally let loose all of his grudges and smile- and _fly._

And the hats, oh, the hats! The grand and the plain, the red and the black and every color that could be conceived in other shades, in conventional style and types entirely new, his hats they were, and were they not the best in the land as a result? Beautiful, perfect, magnificent hats.

It was all perfectly natural, everything right again, not even Mad anymore. He talked quietly to himself and to the hats, like he had so many years ago; he talked to the Alice as well, and to the windows and the walls. And why had he ever strayed? Why had he turned to tea and silly little parties- why had he ever left his trade?

_You don't need to leave us again_, the spread-out silk said, which seemed a sensible idea said succinctly.

"It's just a pity you had to make them for _her_," the Alice commented carelessly in reply.

At which point his world came crashing back down around his ears, of course.

He'd been- tricked, bamboozled, played the fool, there were far too many correct definitions- and by _himself_, nonetheless, by himself! Being a Hatter was not just about Hats. There was pride to be considered, pride and what was right. And he was furious and upset and he still hurt and he was afraid, oh so dreadfully terrified that he had ruined it all and _he would have made a hat for that slurking urpal slackush scrum-_

"_Hatter!_" She jolted him back down to the ground, for that was only one of the many things Alices were capable of, he knew. She was rather bigger than him all the same.

"Have you any idea why a raven is like a writing desk?" he asked hurriedly, searching her eyes for answers, _any_ answers. Wasn't she supposed to know them all? He was glad to see her again but couldn't show it because there were still those hats, too many hats, hats which leered at him in their dreadful purposes. "I don't like it here, it's terribly crowded. Have I gone mad?"

He didn't know whether he wanted a yes or a no as an answer, but Alice gave him the correct response all the same. "I'm afraid so," she informed him after covering his forehead with one giant palm, looking down at him sternly. "You're entirely bonkers. But I'll tell you a secret- all the best people are."

She was right, of course. How very like a woman. He found himself smiling up at her, not even thinking the action through. And how did she know exactly how to play with his emotions? Miraculously, she knew how to up the stakes again- she suddenly pulled _his_ hat out of nowhere and settled it on top of his head with a rather fond smile. All of the other headpieces in the room paled in comparison. "That's better," she told him, smiling widely. "You look yourself again."

Not only that, he _felt_ himself again. If his body was his bravery and his head was his mind, his hat was surely his heart.

Unfortunately, they had no time to waste if they were still stuck in the castle- he could even hear the Red Queen shouting outside, and who knew when she'd decide to barge into the room without the merest whisper of a warning? So he reminded Alice of the Vorpal Sword, trying to put as much sternness into his expression as he could (a hard task when every inch of him was glowing in happiness!). "Find it, Alice. Take it to the White Queen."

"We'll go to the White Queen together," she answered fiercely, glaring at him at the pinnacle of feminine stubbornness and immovability, as stationary as a lamppost might be.

He suddenly realized that he wanted to kiss her.

For him, to want had always been to act; there was no separation between wishes and truths. He had never before stopped any half-reasonable impulse or word that had come to mind, for what harm could come of sharing glorious ideas and dreams with others? Why muffle creativity, why restrain what was only good?

But this was different, somehow. This was Alice. With Alice, you had to do things right.

"Why is it," he finally asked, managing to smile a bit, "you're always too small or too tall?"

It wasn't what he was thinking, which was at that moment hurtling somewhere along the lines of _I understand you and I need you more than anything but dreams but there's something bigger than both of us at stake right now._ It wasn't trumpets or promises, but it was enough to make her smile in return.


	8. What Foolish Mistakes

Alice snuck out of the room directly, which was a rather grand kind of disappointment. It was almost as if they'd just shared a _moment_, by Dog! That was quite a noble-ish thing for him to think, and he took pride in it; never mind the fact that he wasn't entirely sure what it implied. Every moment was a moment, so what made certain moments any different from the others? Perhaps capitalization was involved.

But he was getting so far ahead of himself that he'd soon be sure to complete an entire lap; certainly it was due time to return to his hats. He was no longer eager to work on them, as Alice had reminded him that they were destined for the Red Queen's skull, but they had to be tweaked and finished, ready to be presented when the Bloody Big Head made her entrance. How else could he stall for long enough to help Alice escape? Not to mention all of the negative publicity doing otherwise would cause... he almost snickered at the thought of caring for publicity, for surely, _surely_ the most important percent of the world knew who he was by then!

But back to what was foremost in his mind- getting Alice safely to the White Queen. It meshed perfectly with the war's needs and his own desire, strange and new, to make sure that her head would remain firmly attached to her shoulders _no matter what_. His own fate could be determined at a later date.

So he sat and he made the minute adjustments to his hats that only a master would notice or care about; he sat and worked and thought, and for a while there was peace in the room, if not in his skull (for oh, the dreams and whatifs and considerations that flew through his brain on a daily basis, how lovely they were to behold!). Then, of course, the Red Queen and her court decided to barge in.

He glanced over the lot of them for a few moments, sneering inside. Their defects were nothing to be ashamed of, to be sure, but to show them off so blatantly went entirely against his way of life. He could see up close how they wore makeup or clothes that emphasized their gigantic features, probably to win favor with the queen. So if he bragged that his madness was the most widely encompassing in the land, he would be a favorite too? Ridiculous. There were some things even insanity couldn't explain away.

The Queen flounced her way over to the mirror and sat down without pretext, not bothering to glance around at all the hats surrounding her, and her court fluttered around her in a way reminiscent of sharks waiting to feed. "Hat Man!" she called, snapping her fingers impatiently. It was close enough to his real name, he supposed.

Pity that he could no longer pretend it to be Opposite Day, not with what had occurred before; he'd have to go with the Salesman attitude instead. So he pushed from his mind the fact that the Red Queen was his most dreaded enemy and picked up a hat, red, wide-brimmed, feathers galore. Nothing mattered but the sale. Nothing mattered but getting his beloved hats out into good use. Goodness, it had been years and years since he'd thought such _real _utter nonsense.

"A fedora for a fairy?" he asked, leering in the mirror at the sharp contrast between the subtle red of the hat and the blazing red of her hair.

She sniffed, unimpressed, and ordered for the next one to be brought out.

And so it went from hat to hat- he would suggest, she would react, and the next one would be selected. He'd made many (but less than infinite) hats during his dreamy phase, so he tried to draw the situation out, gaining as much time as he could for Alice- for Alice he could do it. The court was helpful in that matter, since they tried to butter up their queen at every given chance. That surprised him as much as a tadpole; the Queen didn't make a good piece of toast.

He'd just picked out the floppy hat which was almost as preposterously large as her head when he realized precisely _why_ the court were so on-their-toes. In fact, the realization hit him with a satisfying little _squish_, the very noise that the nearest woman's nose made as it fell to the floor.

He started giggling as he (quite kindly) let her know of the mistake; the giggling turned to full-out laughter when he took a chance to look around and saw that she was not the only clown. How lumpy that man's stomach looked- and really, that makeup which made the features stand out could be used to cover up the plastic line as well! And people called _him_ mad. At least he didn't go about pretending to be something he wasn't.

Which he didn't. He was _too_ a Hatter, and a proper one at that; who could argue with the evidence at hand? Surely getting involved in politics hadn't turned his personality around.

He was just wondering whether the Bloody Big Head would insist on trying _his_ top hat on for size- as if he'd let her, ha!- when a woman with atrociously fake ears practically skipped into the room, overflowing with what she clearly thought was good news. He watched with great trepidation as the courtier whispered diabolical secrets into the Red Queen's ear- Alice hadn't been discovered, surely?

Watching the Queen blush the exact same shade as her hair _was_ amusing; listening to her shout "**STAYNE!**" loudly enough to tear down the roof was another event entirely. Knowing a bad situation when he saw it, he hurried off as far from the Queen as his chain would allow (trembling helplessly with fear yet again), pushing the courtiers aside in his haste; kindness could take second place to survival instincts.

The Red Queen had what looked like actual smoke coming out of her ears as she threw the hat currently resting on her hair off; she stomped her way directly towards the door, knocking the two people who stood in her way down as she went. He watched, perplexed, as the court mingled for a minute, every one of them whispering in another's ear. They eventually remembered where they were and scurried away, though, eager to be gone.

That left him with plenty of time to sit and ponder the question of why, precisely, the Queen had yelled for the Knave. Clearly the man was in terrible trouble- he had heard that tone used before by Mallymkun, but only in the most dire situations. It was the tone females reserved for those who would soon be dead if they didn't provide decent explanations. Which reminded him of his personal theory that, if looks could kill, women certainly possessed deadly weaponry on their persons at all times--

"Hatter! There you are!"

Speak of a mouse and she would arrive! He blinked owlishly down at the little creature who was peering in at him under the door, then smiled widely. "Oh, Mallymkun! How nice of you to join the party, even if you _are_ rather late. Are you here to help Alice escape, then?"

The dormouse snorted, rolling her eyes (he could just barely see those pricks of black move), then wiggled into the room and darted across to stand in front of him. "No, you simpleton, I'm here to rescue _you_. That _wrong_ Alice can take care of herself."

Save _him_? What an idea. "I suppose that tea parties of two don't agree with you, then?"

She looked away for a moment, fiddling with the handle of her hat-pin sword, then turned to stare back up at him with a sheepish grin. "What can I say? They're not the same without you." Then she twisted her face into a frown, dashing over to the lock around his ankle. "Come on, let me get that open."

"There isn't a key around," he informed her, just in case she might have thought otherwise; she made a face at him before unsheathing her sword and sticking it into the lock. Putting one giant ear against the piece of metal, she started to jab the hat-pin back and forth experimentally.

"Where in Underland did you learn how to do that?" he asked, sincerely curious.

"Shh. You're distracting me," she snapped as a reply, so he took his turn to try the rolling of the eyes and didn't bother with inquiring again. The sudden lull lasted for about thirty seconds; then someone burst in through the door.

"Stand back, Mallymkun!" that very someone cried. He gaped at her- when had Alice gotten the Vorpal Sword? She was smiling with a fierce kind of pride that he hadn't seen on her since her early days, a look undoubtedly as refreshing as a cool drink of water. "How's this for muchness?" she asked, jogging forward and lifting the sword- aiming for the chain, he realized!

"No- no!" he interrupted as soon as he was aware of the situation, dancing away so that it would miss. No time to say hello or goodbye, or he'd be far too late. "It mustn't be used for anything but--"

"Arrest that girl for unlawful seduction!"

All three of them turned to watch the entrance of the person who had given such a ridiculous opening line, and he at least widened his eyes in un-surprise at the sight of the Knave of Hearts. He would have to ask details of Alice later, for the story would assuredly be too delicious to pass up.

He immediately focused on getting Alice's attention, making sure she would do what was needed. That was what mattered most, that was what needed to be emphasized past stray comments of how they did truly need to work on her timing, it had gotten _horrid_ since she had left. "Take it to the White Queen!"

"I'm not leaving without you," she insisted, her eyes blazing as she shot him a glare. Beautiful in the abstract, he realized, a woman's angry glare- he'd need to make a hat symbolizing it.

Oh, but the situation at hand! "Go," he hissed, wondering how much time he could gain by distracting the Knave. Somewhere between zero seconds and until the end of Time seemed about right.

"Run, Alice!" Mallymkun insisted and, for a moment, he didn't understand why she looked terrified and clapped her paws over her mouth immediately after speaking.

Then the Knave, who had stopped abruptly, turned his incredibly long body around with an incredulous look. _"Alice?_"

At which point, all of his usual rambling and chaotic thoughts jolted to a halt in the favor of one: oh _dear._

"Run!" he shouted, since nothing else was present in his mind after that quiet and somber thought; he grappled with the Knave immediately to buy the woman time. Tragically, he only managed to hold the taller man off for half a minute or so; then the Knave escaped, spitting in his direction (he dearly hoped the saliva wasn't acidic), and went chasing after Alice.

He and Mallymkun were left there, much the same as they had been not three minutes before; however, they had transformed in that time into an entirely new pair, panting and shocked.

"You ought to escape while you still can," he informed the dormouse once he'd gotten over the shock enough for his tie to not _quite _be strangling him. "If you don't, they'll put you in prison, too."

"And if we don't get you out of here, they'll take off your head," she told him brutally, glaring and resuming her attack on the lock. He threw his hands over his head, giving up. _Women_. They knew just how to be immovable, even when three inches tall.

It was beyond insufferable that, when they were captured (or when Mallymkun was, anyway, for he was already conveniently chained) three minutes later, she blamed it all on_ him._


	9. Down with the Bloody Red Queen!

"This was all your fault," Mallymkun stated yet again, doing something with her arms that made the chains binding them tinkle merrily.

"Can't place the fault when there's no one to blame," he murmured dreamily in reply, staring up at the dark, dingy rock somewhere over his head. The guards had done a much better job of searching him for weapons the second time through, removing his socks and a few crumpled receipts from his pockets, then only at the last moment thinking to take the hat-pins from the thimbles on his fingers.

It was a comfort, actually, to know that even the Red Queen couldn't stamp _all_ of Underland's insanity out of her castle. All Underlanders were mad, one way or another; some of them were simply gifted in it.

"Well, I could'a picked it," the dormouse continued. "If you hadn't moved so much, y'know. Oh, don't _laugh!_"

"I wasn't!" he protested, though it had been all he could do to contain his chuckles; indeed, a slightly hysterical giggle escaped with the words. A tiny huff announced the other's irritation, since she couldn't express it visibly- they were in adjoined cells, yes, but that didn't mean they could peer at each other around the bars. Of course, if he could simply wish it into strawberry jelly and bend it about...

Dormouse apparently lost interest in talking at that point, since she fell silent; that was fine by him. He had given up any thoughts of being saved or escaping, since such things were entirely too possible with how lackluster the Red Knights were acting- possible in Underland meant that it wouldn't happen. So, since his doom was surely inevitable, he was busy immersing himself in pleasant memories, giving them a ride around the block one last time.

And no, they weren't _all_ about Alice, stupid. There'd been a time before Little Girl had wandered her way into the land, a time quite hazy and hard to remember (as all times without Alice tended to be- though if that was true, why was the present so sharp? He was near about to cut himself on it). There were good things in that time, though, days of ice cream falling in place of hail and musicals breaking out spontaneously across the land. It was a grand time to be mad, a grand time to laugh at jokes no one else would understand.

She eventually dominated the memories, of course, since Alice tended to take precedence in _everything _connected to her wondrous Wonderland. Cheerful adventures from the old days, which would end in parades and trophies or, if they were tending towards failure, simply stop in their tracks and wave the dangers away; tea parties and 'clean cup, move down!'s galore, whenever she had decided to be more sedate; and more recently her obstinance through confusion, her sudden serious outlook on life, and the way she seemed to be looking after him just as much as he was looking after her.

It was simply dreadful to think that he'd have to lose his head when so many lovely memories were contained within.

"I've always admired that hat," a familiar voice purred from the air next to him, wafting through his hair and tickling his ear.

He immediately sulked with every inch of his clothing drooping and sagging, knowing that voice and just how useless it could be. "Hello, Chess," he drawled, tilting his head to the side slightly so he could watch as a grin, then a face, then an entire cat materialized directly next to him. He had rather envied Chessur's evaporating skills ever since getting to know the cat, incredibly useful when it came to escaping from prisons as they were.

Mallymkun shouted a Hallo as well, but Chessur seemed far to occupied to respond. The cat in question lazily drifted up and around his hat, sending wisps of purple essence to tickle the hatter's nose (though he stubbornly refused to sneeze). "Since you won't be needing it anymore," Chessur slowly replied, his everlasting smile coloring his words, "would you consider bequeathing it to me?"

"How _dare_ you!" _Give up_ _his_ _**hat**?_ Of all the absolutely absurd statements he had heard that day- and he'd heard many, from bulbous heads being beautiful to fashionable glue-on noses appearing natural- that one had to take the muffin. "It is a formal execution. I want to look my best, you know," he added, glowering up at the cat. If he had to die, he would look good in doing so.

The Cheshire Cat let his grin fall apart, sighing like one who had been deeply wronged. "It's a pity about all this," he added, probably for the look of it. "I was looking forward to seeing you Futterwacken."

Gracious, the cat seemed to be obsessed with everything about him _besides_ his own person. His hat and his dancing- what would the cat want next, his insanity? (Chessur couldn't have that; he guarded it more jealously than any cup of tea). Still... it didn't hurt to succumb to flattery, as long as one was careful about it. Not that it was easy to be careful about giving in, dear no. "I _was_ rather good at it, was I not?" he replied smugly, closing his eyes and remembering the feeling of wind whipping around his hat, limbs whirling out and about- absolute freedom in motion, it was.

"I really do love that hat," the cat interjected petulantly, drifting around in front of him so he could stare with those unsettling eyes (he opened one of his own for a peek). "I would wear it to all the finest occasions."

He opened the other eye to stare at the cat more thoughtfully (the cat stared cheerfully right back, probably hoping he'd get a hat out of it). Something about those words sounded familiar. "Perhaps..." he mumbled, ideas tumbling through his head, his cracked lips starting to inch up into a smile.

It only took a few more moments for Chessur to catch onto the idea, for evaporating so often had made Chess nearly as mad as he was; then the cat backed up a good foot or so (if the foot belonged to a giraffe). "Let's not think too quickly." he protested.

He only smiled more widely in response, starting to look almost as alarming as the Cat usually did, no doubt.

"What in the world are you two getting up to?" Dormouse suddenly called, clearly at the end of her temper. "I'm _still here_, in case you were wondering, and it's entirely impolite to ignore someone who shall be _headless_ in a few hours!"

"Oh, we shan't be losing our heads, Mallymkun," he muttered for just the three of them to hear, his grin growing dangerously wide. What merits his wild imagination did have!

"Eh?"

"I never joined your side, remember that," Chessur protested, sounding nervous. "Don't think I'll get involved in this."

"That's just a pity, then," he said with a sigh, taking off his hat and running his fingers over the rim. "I'll be keeping this to the death and beyond, but it will be such a waste to see it floating in the Red Queen's moat..."

The cat's tail twitched at the same time as his nose; he glanced left and right, looking rather tortured.

"Not to mention that, without a head, it would be terribly hard for me to ever work as a hatter again. You know," he whispered, entirely conspiratorial now, "I do believe I might be the only haberdasher in Underland capable of putting a hat on a cat. Putting a cat _in_ a hat is an entirely different matter, but there's a whole difference between the vowel involved and-"

"Fine!" Chessur bellowed, scowling mightily. "I'll help, but _only _so I get to wear the hat." The cat immediately hooked a single claw under the rim and tugged the top hat away from him, flipping it up so it could sit on his head. "_And_ I want one that can evaporate once this mess is over. With feathers," he added, licking a paw disdainfully.

"_If you two don't tell me what's going on right this minute, I'll take off your heads myself!_" Mallymkun screamed from her cell, making a spiderfly fall from the corridor's ceiling.

And so, with no further commotion (besides a furious huff or four from Dormouse), the three got to plotting.

The plan was solidified and confirmed surprisingly quickly; shockingly, he even found himself able to think that it might be _good_. They could trick the Red Queen most elegantly with the plan, it wouldn't be hard at all. Had so many loopholes existed before? Chessur disappeared to make the last-minute preparations, since they still had at least an hour until the execution would commence; he and Mallymkun stayed quiet, trapped up in their thoughts.

He let his mind wander away with dreamy thoughts of returning to the White Queen's castle in triumph, of reuniting with the others who had gone before, of maybe putting his hat-making skills to better use. Yes- a beret would serve her well, he decided, and only the softest blue fabric would do... though maybe a watermelon would make a nice addition...

"Hatter?"

"What, Mally?" he asked, irritated enough at the interruption to use the nickname she hated so much.

Dormouse didn't send any angry quips his way, though; she just stayed silent for a moment, and her voice was hesitant when she spoke again. "D'you... that is, have you ever tried that pishsalver before?"

The drink which made one shrink? What a curious question. "Once," he replied whimsically, smiling at the memory, "when Thackery spiked the tea for a gag- oh, what times I had chasing after some upelkuchen after that! 'Twas as engaging as watching the rocking-horseflies race." Indeed, it had taken him ages and ages to find the cake which made one grow, and since the country had been going through a shortage at the time he'd spent the entirety of his adventure seven inches tall. He'd been adopted by a mother duck, nearly sat on by a camel, had found it necessary to ride up a waterfall in the process, and had determined that anything under a foot tall was terribly dangerous. Certainly Dormouse lived up to expectations.

"Oh." She sounded fairly miserable, so he tilted his head to the side, emphasizing confusion, never mind that she couldn't see. "So you don't like being small, then."

"My own size suits me just fine; the suit wouldn't fit otherwise," he agreed, smiling at the thought. Still, the question remained of why Dormouse was sounding so timid. "Try something that disagreed with you, then?"

She was silent for what he supposed felt like an awkward length of time (he could only suppose, for things had ceased to seem awkward to him long ago); when she spoke again, it sounded like there was something bitter on her tongue. "You really like Alice, dont'cha?"

"Are we going to play at being in secondary school, then?" he asked brightly, wondering what had brought about the charade. Only in such a place could such terribly gossipy threads of conversation be unveiled.

"Nah." She sighed, and he could practically hear her shrug. "I just wish I had been a bit bigger, that's all."

For a second, he could almost imagine what she was always hinting at in her own way, straightforward and slippery as she was. Fortunately (or unfortunately, it all depended on one's point of view), a reappearing cat decided to provide his own form of distraction.

"I don't see how you deal with this garb," Chess muttered, pulling at the chains with a growl.

He merely smiled in return.

-o-

He spent a while hiding up on the balcony after slipping out behind Chess, which was shockingly easy to do as long as he considered the most insane thoughts he possibly could (what a marvelous task!). Anything crazy was completely ignored in the Red Queen's palace, as long as the Queen didn't approve; he probably could've sat in plain sight while considering flying pigs if he wished it. The hatter hid behind the curtains instead, just in case.

And he watched the event unfold dispassionately, though he was unable to hold back a grin at all of the fun Chessur was having in that hat. It took a great deal of effort to keep from making sarcastic comments to the people sitting so nearby; he had to keep both hands pasted over his mouth to keep the more clever words in.

Of course, there was no need to hold back his words once the plan went into action; he let them all out, flowery and delicious and _free_, revealing the truth to everyone involved. He reveled in it, oddly enough, taking charge and setting the world back to its usual crooked angle. Who knew that making things correct would work so well? He barely knew himself as he shouted, manipulating emotions, working the crowd. "To the abused and enslaved of the Red Queen's court," and it was so strange how such elegant words spilled so easily from his throat, "stand up and fight! Rise up against the bloody Red Queen!"

It was colors whirling about as the people dropped their obsessions, dropped their reds and blacks, and it was the sense of things maybe becoming right again that made him smile. He couldn't help but think that Alice would have liked it- the old Alice, anyway. Perhaps the old and new were becoming one and the same? Anything could happen, after all, if carefully chosen words made all the difference in Underland.

* * *

_You know, if Alice and Hatter weren't such an obviously intriguing couple, Mallymkun might've stood a chance. It was there, it was canon! I'm just sayin'._


	10. Solipsism

He tried to consider how the right words had tiptoed their way into his stomach, tried to distinguish each and every leaf that spiraled down from the trees above, tried to recite poems that he'd learned once upon a time as a distraction. None of them could hold his attention, though, and he had an itchy suspicion that he knew precisely why.

They were going back to the White Queen after all, all of her most loyal supporters. They were safe, none had been lost, even Bayard's family had been retrieved! Never before had a reconnaissance mission gone so slick-and-smoothly; never before had they such good tidings to bring. Never before had he such good friends to look forward to meeting again-

He stubbornly shoved the thought back off to the side of his mind, sending it teetering in the empty space that his hat usually occupied. The more he thought of her, the longer it would take. That had been the _point_ when waiting in the prison cell, but the same logic couldn't be applied to the situation at hand. Besides, he'd let far too many dreams and conceptions squirm away of late. For instance, wasn't it lovely how knowledge could leap like lightning, jumping from one person to another?

If only he could see it- oh, what marvelous things he could then try to do!

So he played at cat and mouse (metaphorically speaking- Mallymkun was in the midst of a heated debate about the proper use of javelins with the twins while Chessur was pretending to be a dog, so neither would have helped him anyhow) with his thoughts. He chased them this way and that and occasionally dropped them on the path below, then picked them up, dusting them off carefully before pushing them back in through his ears. Thank the heavens the two castles were built so close together; he could only take so much repetition at once.

He was expecting to surprise them, or perhaps to meet a guard or two at the door, or maybe even to be caught up by a few of the flowers and tossed gleefully the last dozen meters in. He wasn't expecting the welcoming party at all.

He was perfectly aware of Mirana the Queen and Bayard the Dog, of course, his vision was _fine_ (as long as one could forgive the slight orange tint)- he simply couldn't help the fact that his eyes were immediately drawn to the girl who had changed from blue to white. She'd chosen a side, then? That brief red phase had worried him so (he wondered this to himself even as he wondered if perhaps magnets attracted to blondes had been inserted behind his eyes, for certainly he was being pulled forward relentlessly, never mind how agreeable that might be).

Goodness, little boys were certainly made with speed in mind those days, she was standing right in front of him before he had time to blink.

"I'm so happy to see you!" she cried, and she was smiling widely indeed, he couldn't doubt her statement in the least- in fact, he was forced to smile in return. Forced? No, the word didn't sound quite right. "I thought they were going to-"

Oh, but he did _not_ wish for them to meet on negative terms, so he cut her off while words were still spinning madly through his head. "So did I! But they didn't." Really, it was a challenge just to keep his ideas in the proper order when Alice was smiling at him like that, had he ever seen her _truly _smiling before? "And now, here I am- still in one piece." Well- perhaps not _truly_, if the word was defined with the Cat in mind.

But his mouth was running amok without him, and it had stolen his jar of Thoughts Best Kept Unsaid Until After The Jabberwock to boot. "And I'm rather glad about that now that I'm seeing you again- I would have regretted not seeing you again- especially now that you're you and the proper size-" indeed, she seemed just right at the moment, perhaps she could stay that way forever? Even if forever was a dreadfully long time?- "and it's a good size... it's a great size... it's a right-proper Alice size..."

"Hatter," she said, sounding amused.

He blinked. Oh, how correct- he was supposed to be engaging in light and pleasant conversation, didn't he know? He scrambled for a minute, wondering where he'd left off _this _time. Was it hats again, or words of more than five syllables? "Size, fez... I'm fine."

Something about the mirthful, joyous look she shot up at him told him 'I know' without sound- or perhaps it was just that her following words conveyed the meaning within. "Where's your hat?"

_On the head of a terribly pretentious feline_, he considered telling her. More unfortunately, Chess beat him to it, materializing on the spot. So he _wasn't_ going to go and wander off. Perhaps he'd even consider doing something noble, without bargaining first? He had to watch, annoyed but amused, as the two greeted each other gleefully and reminisced on old war wounds and the like.

Of course, he had _not _forgotten his hat, and told the cat as much with a glare. It took much twitching of his eyebrows before Chess decided to give in.

"Good bye, sweet hat," Chessur said with quite a drawn-out sigh, flicking a glance towards the hatter which stated that he had _not_ forgotten about that evaporating hat he'd eventually be getting, please and thank you.

He smiled at Alice as he settled the hat back onto its usual home, not really minding the implicit challenge. Strange how Chessur could say so much with a look, yet he couldn't put words to Alice's smile at all.

"And here- our two most noble warriors," the White Queen sang out, spinning around and putting a colorless hand on each of their shoulders. Chess hurriedly disappeared before he was noticed as well. "Come, come, we must all dine together, and then we'll talk about what tomorrow shall bring! Come along, now..."

And, to his great mystification, Mirana dragged them both back to the castle and into the crowd, oblivious to any and all types of brushing off. Before he could complain about how he hadn't even dusted off his toes (still sock-less, after all), they had all been separated in the throng. He had to consider it a most dreadfully annoying state of affairs.

Time acted like a petulant little brat yet again as it crept by oh-so-slowly, giggling in his ear when he scratched the back of his leg or picked jimmies out of his soup (Thackery _did_ have such questionable recipes). He snatched tiny bits of conversation with hims and hers as the night dragged on, but never anything substantial, never anything addressing what was starting to eat away at his good humors. He'd been thinking, after all (well, he always was); thinking meant questions; questions needed answers lickety-split.

-o-

The night was beautiful, some would say. If he was a poet, he might have composed on how the air was liquid velvet, or how the stars painted a lullaby. However, he was merely a hatter, and thus he thought it a pity that the sky was hiding its turmoil behind such inner peace. No headpiece could keep its occupant dry forever.

"Have you any idea why a raven's like a writing desk?" he asked again, sauntering forward and leaning on the railing next to her, watching her out of the corner of his eye. Perhaps she had the answers this time. Besides, she looked... hmm. Glow-y wasn't quite an adequate term.

Alice smiled, slouching her shoulders as she stared off into the night sky. "Let me think about it."

It would be nice to just stand there with her, quiet and peaceful, contemplating the night and so on. It would be nice- but nice was no good, nice didn't matter at all. "You know what tomorrow is, don't you?"

"Frabjous Day. How could I forget?" She looked off to the side, her smile sliding into a deep frown. "I wish I'd wake up!"

If emotions could _truly_ slide then there had to be an entire spectrum of them. Were they all connected to each other in some dimension greater than three? Oh, but he had a topic to pay attention to again, one which was rapidly approaching Serious Business for that matter. "You still believe this is a dream? Do you?"

"Of course." Her words were apologetic, but it was no apology if she continued that strain of not looking in his direction. "This has all come from my own mind."

So then, she knew. She already knew what he had half-guessed at for ever so long, and he couldn't really help at all.

He'd been developing theories since she had first appeared, that very first time she had taken control of the world in a way that no one else truly could. He'd nearly pressed his brain flat in forcing it to only consider the logical events of cause and effect, to take on a scientific viewpoint, so to speak. It was difficult and occasionally unpleasant, but he had determined that _someone_ had to do it, so really- who better? Besides, it was the least boring thing to do when the days were fused together in their misty sameness- when she wasn't paying attention, if he was going to put his theories to the test.

Things had always gone her way when she was a Little Girl, they'd always ended up perfectly (or not ended at all). Almost every Underlander had scrambled to meet her, though they kept their wild personalities and quirks the same; almost every quest had her at its center. When she'd disappeared? Their land had fallen to darkness, drifted apart, lost that interconnecting thread of _real meaning exists when there are no constraints at all_. Even now, even with her in their midst, there were still such shocking social bounds, things still took such expected turns and twists.

"Which would mean," he continued, thinking her precise phrasing over, "that I'm not real." In all actuality, he had already determined that he was slightly different from the other Underlanders- yes, he _would_ think so (being himself), but some part of the very malleability in his personality made him sure that he wasn't just impulse and idea wrapped up into a character. He liked himself too much to give up his real-ness, so to speak, on her words alone. She might have been their creator, their muse, but that didn't mean that they couldn't break free.

Still, he wanted to hear her opinion on it all.

"I'm afraid so," she said softly, looking back at him with a timid little smile. "You're just a figment of my imagination." He could read uncertainty in her eyes, though, and that was enough for him- there were thoughts she hadn't yet put to words in her original little mind. Then she wrinkled her nose, still smiling up at him. "I _would_ dream up someone who's half mad."

Ah, a joke to lighten the conversation and produce a bubble or two before they got into deeper waters. It was exquisite relief to let go of the serious words for just a moment, to dive into a pool of purely nonsensical thoughts (nonsensical until he pieced them together into a misshapen jigsaw puzzle, of course). "Yes, yes- but _you_ would have to be half mad to dream _me_ up."

"I must be, then!" She laughed, then glanced quickly between him and the scenery. Her face wasn't right at all- humor wasn't supposed to mix with sadness. "I'll miss you when I wake up."

That wasn't supposed to make everything better. It was simply too bad that it insisted on doing so anyway.

He paused for a moment to let her think, content with watching her observe the silent life outside; then he posed his own most important question, the one which had bothered him for so long. "Only half mad, Alice?"

She glanced back at him, lifting one eyebrow. It was sufficient as a question.

"Me. Every inhabitant of Underland. Even you! Shall we only be half mad, or make a proper go at it?"

Alice looked away again, the corners of her mouth twitching up in a smile. "What an odd question to ask," she hemmed, not really responding.

She hadn't thought it over then, which would explain the sudden bouts of clear-headedness and eloquence he'd been experiencing of late. The most unheard-of things tended to happen in Underland, and sanity was truly just another un-doable thing.

Yet his concentration was slipping already, interest fading into other subjects. Timing didn't matter in such cases; it was all about what the moment required of him.

"But being _properly_ mad- the way you do it, I mean- must be a wonderful way to lead a life," she suddenly said, answering his question after all. A wistful look clouded her eyes, he thought, though wists were hard to announce.

"Why not try?"

It was as much of an offer as he could give; anything further would be darting out of the realms of subtext, which Underland disapproved of heartily. Then again, he'd never cared for disapproval, or even noticed it, truthfully, before...

"I can't," she said quickly, sounding just as disappointed as he undoubtedly felt. "There's- duties, waiting for me up in the real world. Oh, you haven't been there, have you?" He shook his head, intrigued as to what could make any world 'real'. "Well, it's a horrid place on the most part, nothing like this, but it has its bright spots. My mother and I go firefly-catching sometimes, I think you'd like that..."

He listened, amused, as she eagerly described her home-world in all its dusty glories. He could've told her that each of her 'bright spots' was matched by a brilliant Underland version- he had never seen a firefly, though their firecrackerflies could probably give them a run- but that would be ruining her fun. And seeing her so happy for once, that was enough for him.

-o-

The sun was shining, moods were soaring high, and the entirety of those brave enough to rebel against the Red Queen had gathered in the courtyard, as refreshed and restored as they could be after sleepless, worried nights. Conflicting forecasts and unfulfilled promises filled the air, reflecting off of the austere whiteness of the castle surrounding. It was orderly chaos, madness with rules, exactly what Underland adapted to in its times of need.

He rather fancied that a gumdrop-storm would fit the day better.

Still, it was not up to him to decide what the weather should be, they had cloudbirds for that. He had much more weighty things to occupy his overly active brain just then. The talk the night before had done him good- if the constitution of the world had been clearly outlined, he could set about towards finding loopholes! If it put him on a level slightly approaching the one which Alice stood on, well, there wasn't a single thing in the world (real or in a mind) that could stop him.

… though he supposed that it might be prudent to put aside such wonderings until the at-hand necessities had been finished. Oh, but the court had fallen into such _unfashionable_ times of late!

Yet the Rabbit was speaking, which demanded some attention, at least. "Who will step forth to be champion for the White Queen?"

His moment would hardly _be_ a moment if he didn't even try to snatch it from the air. "That would be I!" he cried out happily, leaping his way out of the crowd. Only after did he consider what type of pronoun was dedicated to such a situation- was it one letter or two? Certainly 'You' would not do, no matter how true it was trying to be.

In any case, the situation did not hold much water for, no matter how many of them stepped out into the sun, none of them were precisely right for the part. Perhaps, if he had grown out his own springy orange locks such that they tumbled down his back... but no, what a preposterous thought. Who was he to question his hair?

It didn't matter terribly much because it was all up to Alice, no doubts around it. He watched the young woman as she looked among them all, noting the worry lines that had snuck their way onto her forehead. Surprisingly (or was it a shock at all?), he wasn't worried in the least about what her decision would be. No matter what her choice, it had to be the right one; that was how Wonderland worked. And if her Wonderland and his Underland were one and the same, they'd all be just fine in the end (if one defined 'just fine' with enough provisions, at least).

Besides, she was an Alice. They never ran away- they simply made strategic retreats. So he smiled when the others all quietly panicked at the sight of her fleeing shoes, smiled in his always-off-kilter way, knowing, just _knowing_ that she'd come back.

For she wrote the horoscopes, and she'd nearly gotten her muchness back in line.

* * *

_You get three guesses as to where I snuck in my own opinions about how the Alice in Wonderland universe works. The first two don't count._

_Holy grammar, Batman, I didn't think there would be _this_ many more of you just from switching to the movie section. Thanks so much for all the reviews!_


	11. It Burbled as It Came

And so they marched as a whole, heads held high with no fear of beheading, ready for the battle that they could not possibly stop-

Oh? A missing part? Well, _of course_ Alice had come back to be the Champion, wasn't it obvious?

Indeed. In any case, he thought merrily to himself, the end of the adventure was surely nigh, for the battle would straighten everyone out one way or another. It would be a relief to need no more rebellions, it would be exquisitely nice to sit down for a pleasant cup of tea without twitching from the fear that soldiers would choose to ride over the table that day.

Perhaps they'd be able to have a decent conversation or two, then. He'd missed their true conversations so. "Alice," he tried, smiling at the thought, "have you ever considered how a missing thing is always in the last place you look for it?"

"Pardon?" she asked, leaning down from the Bandersnatch's back to hear him better (the beast in question snorted in annoyance or excitement or perhaps merely allergies, he was no good at judging the reactions of such creatures). He repeated his words, still grinning, and she looked at him bemusedly in return.

"Well? Have you?"

"You would pick such a question right before a battle," she said, clearly amused. "Well, where else might it be?"

"In the first place!" he happily replied, content to answer a question for once. "It's shocking that no lost item has tried it before- why, if _I_ went missing, I'd certainly try to be right where I'd be looked for. Wouldn't you?"

"Perhaps not all of them want to be found," she replied, laughing a bit.

He looked down at her words, observing the trampled dirt underfoot that was scuffing up his newly-shined boots. Other meanings and between-the-lines reading had hit him full-force, and it was simply his own fault for asking the question, he assumed. "Oh. That would be you, I suppose."

"What are you talking about, Hatter?" she asked, sounding concerned- for him! If only he could bottle such emotions up and keep them forever on a pretty little shelf.

"Well, you left and didn't return," he replied, his tone low and sad. "We looked for you at first, you know- under the chairs and inside the flowers and such. But we only ever found you on a last resort." And oh, how McTwisp had complained about the necessity of leaving their safe haven, making himself known!

"I didn't know what I was missing." Her voice was forceful but kind, almost like that of a parent- protective, he supposed. It seemed that his Little Girl had finally gotten Big.

_You might leave again_, he thought all the same, unwilling to brighten his petulant state of mind. He didn't say as much, though, for Alice's sake- and also because their destination had finally caught up to them.

Alice straightened and sat properly on her steed as they filed into the clearing, and his eyes were drawn promptly to the army opposing as his previous thoughts drifted away. So Time was decided on it, and the end of the war was about to begin. He twisted at the thimbles still on his fingers as Mirana motioned for them to stop, as she walked forward to greet her sister, the tyrant who stood ahead.

"Hello, Ircebeth," the White Queen said to the Red, a quivering smile flitting its way onto her mouth. He wondered where it had flown in from, as the faces surrounding were serious indeed.

"Hello, Mirana," the Red Queen replied, her forehead creased into an angry fold that was shaped like a 'v'. Perhaps it had gotten stuck that way; it would not have surprised him in the least.

Miniature, invisible lightning bolts leapt between the two, sparking with miniature, invisible specks of light as they went; the White Rabbit caught between them was due to be fried to a toast. He watched with a strange mixture of concern and amusement as McTwisp hiccuped his way through whichever formal speech he had chosen for _this _occasion; the rabbit loved pomp preparation dearly, and had collected instructions on how ever so many events had to be done. He had seen them, framed and displayed as they were, oh yes- so had every other Underland inhabitant, at that. A proud rabbit was an odd sight to behold.

The queens were twittering on about something or another in the center of the field (he pictured them as birds for a minute, a cardinal and a dove- they didn't fit at all), so he took a few last moments to gaze up and around at the scenery, marveling at how cold and cruel the start contrast of colors could be. It was fitting for a battle, no matter how improper said battle might be.

"It's _my _crown! _I'm _the eldest!" the Red Queen suddenly yelled, stamping her foot for a critical hit. "_Jabberwock__!_"

Whispered hopes and wishes in the format of prayers lit the air all around them, clouding his mind. The sky itself seemed to lose its color as something erupted from beyond the field that he didn't dare to look at, not at first, for it was far too terrible (his entire suit was paling at the thought). Next to him, even Alice had taken a step back- her muchness could withstand far greater horrors, he was sure, but she seemed determined to be frightened nonetheless.

"This is impossible," he heard her whisper, the words barely reaching him despite the near-silence of the plain. He looked at her for one long, wordless moment, wondering how much of her own mind she truly understood.

"Only if you believe it is."

It was the right thing to say- when she looked at him, a small smile had snuck its way onto her face. "Sometimes," she quietly replied in a confiding way, "I believe as many as six impossible things before breakfast."

He had no doubt that she did; in fact, he was looking forward to future conversations on the many impossible things that might exist in the world, and how one could go about proving them all wrong. Most unfortunately, the intelligent monster growling before them could _not _be impossible, for it was standing right there on the ground. So he struck a middle stance, perfectly agreeable and perfectly despicable. "That is an excellent practice- however," and he nearly bit of his own tongue on the terribly dry words, "just at the moment, you really might want to focus on the Jabberwock."

Alice nodded, flashed him a brief, almost-cocky grin, then strode forward with her head held up. He watched her walk away with something akin to pride; he'd helped to create this brave new person, perhaps. She was truly worthy of being called a Champion now (she always had been, he hoped).

He could focus on the Jabberwock as the two battled in a vigorously awe-striking way; he could stare at it in such abstract horror that his mind could think of nothing else. For a minute or two, nothing existed in the world but that battle. He was aware of nothing but flinching concern that, even if Alice was destined to do a bit of slaying, wouldn't it be possible for her to receive some injuring as well? It wouldn't bear thinking of, it simply wouldn't.

She yelled something about killing the Jabberwock at one point- and perhaps something about tricks beforehand, he couldn't tell between the clangs and the clashes- and he stepped forward, trying to see what she was _doing_, for did they really have to move quite so much? Next thing he knew, someone on the sidelines had called out his name and a very angry Knave was running at him with a sword.

He tried to consider keeping in the right frame of mind for a second or two, tried to think only of Alice and keeping her safe as he drew his own weapon- but then his eyes flashed red and furious, and he was moving without control.

-o-

He could tell what was going on, oddly enough, even if he couldn't so much as wiggle a finger. How strange it was to observe these things! Such screams and roars and cries for help- they brought back memories which he couldn't escape, not locked in his mind as he was.

So he could only sob soundlessly as he outwardly whirled in a circle and slashed out at the Knave, could only wish and hope that the body might turn so he could see whether or not Thackery had escaped that wayward blow. He'd kept himself at a distance from all acquaintances for so long, refused to think of anyone else as a friend once Alice was gone- and what a mistake that decision would be if any of them were killed now! Could they help it if they were all ideas, all characters who had run away with themselves? Could _he _help it?

No more than he could help how his attention suddenly latched onto a stray space on the ground and made him start obsessively naming all the well-formed shapes that he knew, from circle to triangle to square to pentagon to hexagon to to to... maybe a hat could count as a shape after all.

A lock of springy orange hair went flying as his body dove out of the way too slowly, though at least his hat was safe, a sharp shock of forgotten pain lashed its way up his arm as he parried a strike away...

And if he stayed in such a frame of mind forever, could the battle ever cease?

-o-

But it ended, eventually, as it always would.

It ended with a giant head slamming onto the battlefield, dripping purple blood; it ended with a beautiful woman standing high above them all, clutching her sword and almost turning green. It didn't suit her as a color; nothing but blue ever would.

Seeing her standing there broke him out of the rage, and just as well- he came to himself in a position close to killing Stayne. Did the Knave deserve it? Quite possibly; it could use thinking. However, what did _not_ need thoughts was the fact that, if the other man was going to die, he was going to do so _very _slowly. _He_ had been the one to instigate so many attacks in the past. So he kept his sword held steady, saving the man for some form of justice that could maybe be explained on a rainy day.

"Kill her!" the Red Queen screamed from somewhere else on the battlefield, and he wasn't sure as he glanced at her whether red tears were running down her cheeks or his eyes were simply watering from the stress of it all (his own tears were slightly orange, no surprise, no surprise).

A simple, breath-taking moment, and then- a Red Knight, like any other, perhaps, but unusually brave for one of his kind. Unusual braveness was no stranger to that battlefield, not that day. A Red Knight dropping his weapon, lifting his head.

"We follow you no more, Bloody Big Head."

So, assuming logical chains of cause and effect, they had won.

He could nearly faint from the relief of it all.

* * *

_My God, y'all are beating out my previous top story (which has been around for two years now) in alerts and favs. I'm astounded. I mean, seriously- wow._

_Reviewers are loved half to death as always, especially when they talk about interesting theories and such. You guys rock!  
_


	12. Such Strange Goodbyes

His surroundings were erupting into such a cacophony of sound that they thrummed through his ears and vibrated in his skull, but what did that matter at that point? He disarmed the Knave hurriedly, then backed away from the man's vile glare with a sheepish kind of grin (did that deserve a baa?). Mirana would see to the traitor, surely, and as for himself- well, he had many other things to think of. Confirming that all of his friends had gotten through the battle was one, of course- and yes, fine, considering Alice was the other.

She was climbing her way down from the tall staircase she had ended up on, a sickly green tint veiling her muchness, though not forevermore. How strange that she could be lovely even when not three inches tall! He hurriedly turned away at that thought, frantically considering whether or not Alices were capable of reading minds; surely 'lovely' was not an appropriate term to be used on a warrior maiden returning from the kill, so mightn't she cuff him about for thinking it?

In any case, he could not spare a second thought for that undoubtedly intriguing and perhaps Alice-changing view, for he was almost immediately bombarded by two differently-sized creatures. He quickly found himself spinning in circles and laughing with Thackery and Mallymkun (he and Thackery were spinning, anywhat, as Mallymkun's feet had immediately left the ground)- why, they had not gotten up to such antics since before the Horunvendush Day! Yet it was _good_ to see them alive and unbloodied, hides uncut as they were, for tea parties alone were _not_ to be tolerated.

The dormouse soon jabbed them both with her hat-pin, ordering them to hush, and they all watched solemnly as the crown was transferred from red to white. He pretended to watch solemnly, anyway- he was far too busy wondering what kind of significance there was behind Chess carrying the symbol to be solemn at all (did that make the cat the King for a moment or two? What a curiously disturbing thought). What power could that headpiece possibly hold? Why, he could make a better one with a simple snip-snip-knot!

He eventually became aware of Alice walking up to stand beside him and glanced her way shiftily, wondering at her thoughts. She was smiling in her typically engaging fashion, and her eyes flashed approval as the Red Queen and the Knave were cast out from the land. She looked sweaty and dangerous and had that purple blood clinging to her armor here and there. Was it terribly bad of him to still want to hug her and perhaps smell her hair? He quickly shooed his attention back towards the going-ons, just in case. Surely there'd be better times for debates on good and evil!

A good thing he did, too, as the Knave was causing trouble _yet again_. He almost rolled his eyes while flicking out a pair of scissors that he had up his sleeve, while sending them flying to knock the knife the man had pulled directly out of his hands. And people called _him_ mad! Not that he ever wanted them to stop, mind. That could nearly make him seem, well, _sane_.

He shuddered at the thought.

And then he realized, as the two causers of pain and misery and everything that made the world lose its color were pushed away- it was over. The politics, the violence, the dread dreamings that would not end, they would all poof away forevermore. It was truly over, and it was Frabjous Day, and the White Queen had finally gained the crown!

He felt incredibly joyously pleased. In fact, he suddenly felt so light-hearted, every stitch of his clothing brightening up, that he had no choice- he simply had to _Futterwacken!_

-o-

Those who thought the Futterwacken ridiculous had surely lost their minds, and in a way entirely different from the beautiful madness that Underland _and _Wonderland were all about. It was an art form, the most delicate flower of choreographed movement to be seen across the world, it was, indeed, _a way of life_. Hats were his way of expressing his passion, his muse and his soul, but Futterwackening was needed when he could not contain that joy within his hands alone.

The world was transformed into a brilliant swirl of light and color and amazed laughter, the sights circling him at speeds which might, at one time, have been unknown. He felt disconnected from his body and more at one with himself at the same time, as he always did when fully into that dance; there was no thought, no plan, just ceaseless movement and twists and splits. It was clear-headed dizziness, the only possible definition for such a thing.

No- it was joy in their newfound freedom, in the lives of those who had remained- so many! How lucky they were! It was their hope, their spirit, their determination. It was the smile of a young woman which had come straight in from her imagination, a girl most curious in blue.

-o-

He came out of the dance (not unlike coming out of a rage, except infinite-plus-onely more pleasant) to the sound of applause. It was shockingly unexpected, but nice, simply pleasant. Now, he wondered, how could he teach all of the lovely people to applaud his hats instead? What good times they would all have then!

The attention soon faded away, however, and he (humbly? Dear no!) brushed off the well-meant words of others as he made his way back to where Alice was standing. Mirana beat him to it, however, and he got there just in time to see her standing straight and distractingly tall at the mouth of the Jabberwock, a purple something in her hand.

"And blood of the Jabberwock," the Queen pronounced, lifting the vial into the air. She proceeded to announce that she was presenting it to Alice as a reward for her efforts, which seemed to not even be backwards logic to him- it was much more sideways, really, for hadn't Alice slain the monster in the first place? And the Queen was eyeing the beast in a way that said she would be after plenty more of that blood in a short while, no doubt, who could be surprised?

Alice seemed more interested in the vial than the woman, though. "Will this take me home?" she asked, holding it up to the light.

Oddly enough, his heart paused for a long, breathless moment.

"If that is what you choose," the Queen replied. Her dark eyes darted around the circle of companions and friends, wordlessly telling them all that Alice _had_ to be the one to make the decision, that they couldn't impede.

The organ in his chest started pumping blood again, but at double the tempo he was used to. It was a dreadful sensation. He didn't like the thought of it continuing indefinitely. He didn't like that all of the others were smiling briefly at Alice and then looking down or away. Nor did he like how it always got colder before it rained or how things always tasted worse when there was still soap in the glass but he really, truly did not appreciate how Alice was just then lifting the vial towards her lips. He had a terrible urge to dash the glass to the ground- he took a step forward instead.

"You could stay," he blurted out without meaning to. He instantly smiled with as much sincerity as he could scrape up as Alice glanced up and at him, though he was willing to bet (odds were certainly different than a boring one-to-one) that it looked lop-sided and dreadful. The White Queen was almost growling at him in the background, but Alice merely stared and blinked.

"What an idea," she deadpanned, still staring. Then she smiled as well (some tight fist that had been squeezing his lungs together loosened- was Chess playing tricks?), lowering the vial slightly. "A crazy, mad, wonderful idea."

Yes, yes, and yes, she had hit all of the facts and was completely correct, and- and she was still Alice, and he was in no way a fool. Mad, yes; stupid, no. He had become entirely delusional, it seemed.

_But she can't_ he thought at about the same moment as she said "But I can't. There are questions I have to answer- things I have to do."

Of course. She had her other world, her real-world as she liked to call it. She needed to take care of it as well; Alice was just like that. It was sensible. It was logical. He didn't like it any more than he liked sour grapes. She had helped them so much already, they really had no right to hold onto her for longer, but couldn't he ask her to stay for fun- for a cup of tea, an exploration or two, a nice, meandering talk in the shade of a Cotton Ball Tree?

He wanted to, anyway. He wanted to cajole or speak solemnly, hold her hand for a moment at least, or say three simple words which had turned into such anagrams in his head that he didn't know what they were, though they seemed wondrous nonetheless. The selfish moment passed, though, to his relief- Alice could not possibly have liked him that way. Besides, it would do no good to darken such a beauteous day by making her regret what simply had to be. So he steeled himself, talked the ideas into ridiculous notions, beat back the hopes that had so newly sprung into life.

He bit his lip shut when she raised the vial to her lips and drank, anyway, just in case.

"I'll be back again before you know it," she told him- him, directly, and no others in the crowd! The smile in her eyes spoke truth, but he worried about her anyway, worried that the Little Girl in her would call it all a dream, perhaps. If he was a dream, would he never find her again?

"You won't remember me," he mumbled, sure that it was true for one horrid moment.

She pulled an insulted face (her feet, he noticed, were wisping into purple steam- perhaps that should be odd?). "Of course I will! How could I forget?" She then smiled cheerfully and- no, he wasn't going to look too deeply into things. What if he then fell down into them, like they were a series of bottomless wells? "Hatter," she said quietly, voice full of mischief and curiosity, "why _is _a raven like a writing-desk?"

A half-dozen potential responses flashed through his mind as her knees wisped away, but only one would do. "I haven't the slightest idea," he confided, watching happily as her eyes lit up; she was (correctly, or as correct as a dozen or so responses might have been) taking it on as a challenge. Then he started forward to whisper in her ear- he would have wrapped his arms around her, maybe, he was feeling daring after all, but her torso was dissolving quite quickly- "fairfarren, Alice."

It was almost like the others had all disappeared, like they were the only two left in the clearing. A preposterous thought- why, not even a yard to his right stood the twins, and everyone else was ranged throughout with eyes trained directly on her. But his eyes could not leave Alice, and she held his gaze until the end.

The last part he saw of her were her eyes, in fact, fading to a pale blue behind the purple mist, then mixing with it so thoroughly that they were wispily gone. He wasn't acknowledging it, though- he couldn't, after the fact. It was surely Chess, playing a trick. Alice would surely reappear in a moment or two and laugh, ask why their faces had all gotten so long- yes, she'd have to go away eventually, but it wouldn't be so soon!

And in the meantime, he had nothing to do. He didn't really care to listen to the after-battle talk being scattered all around him, though at least three different creatures were tugging on his sleeves and asking for advice (one of them was Mallymkun- he'd talk to her more thoroughly once he had settled his head back into its usual crooked angle, he promised himself, for the moment at least). He just wanted to stand there. He just wanted to think. Maybe it was a puzzle? She liked puzzles almost as much as he did, after all. It would be a fair exchange.

If it was going to be a puzzle, he had to examine all the facts sequentially. How had it started, anyway? He couldn't recall her by a first appearance, by physical appearance, her eyes or her hair- it was words that came to him, ones she liked to use.

Her favorite phrase was 'curiouser and curiouser', he had hypothesized once upon a time. Odd that she used it to describe their world when Wonderland was absolutely ordinary in comparison to her...

* * *

_I wonder who might have noticed what I did just there. A hint- the hatter's thoughts and tea saucers are not the only circular things in this story, and the epilogue, as it comes from my mind alone, must likewise stand apart.  
_

_Oh the hats I would make for my lovely reviewers, if only I was a hatter as well! They shall be digital ones instead, yes?_


	13. An Ordinary Epilogue

**- The Rest of the Story, According to Time -**

"Hatter? Hatter!"

She sighed in a way almost approaching sadness (always almost, never completely) at the faraway look in his eyes- he was thinking yet again. He always was bouncing off into that dreamland that she couldn't share, which made her jealous every now and then. How ridiculous to be jealous of another's _mind_! But not surprising that it was so, for she was perfectly used to ridiculous occurrences. They were natural, ordinary, if one was in Underland.

What was a dormouse to do?

A silly question- was she not Mallymkun? There was only one thing _to_ do! And so she instantly unsheathed her hat-pin-sword and jabbed it at his shin.

Tarrant (she still used his given name in the safety of her mind, despite his so-called renouncing it) did something between a yelp and a war-cry as he jumped a full foot into the air and pulled out his own sword in one fluid motion; she put her hands on her hips and stared him down (or up, rather), not relenting in her glare until he had relaxed with a sad little smile. Over her dead body would he sulk his way through the coming days and hours, merely waiting for Alice to return!

"Now _see here,_ you," she said in a right scolding tone (Tarrant quickly slouched with a guilty look, eyes still a tad bit unfocused, as the other creatures nearby became interested in different things), "you have _no_ right to be standing here all weepy, mildewing practically, when there's work to be done! Goodness! Look at the poor Queen-" she gestured enthusiastically towards the White Queen in question, who for some reason hurriedly turned around to examine the Jabberwock's head more closely- "why, you're making her wilt with all your depressing looks!"

She thought she heard words that sounded rather like 'I am _not_ wilting' coming from Mirana's vicinity, but doubted their authenticity to the core.

"We're all going to miss Alice," she continued, a bit more gently this time, "but life has to continue until she comes back. Alright?" Surprisingly, she wasn't lying through the words (a good thing, too, she despised liars); she truly would miss the big human girl. Alice had become many kinds of fun once she'd gotten her muchness back, and she'd rather thought the two of them could become Best Chums with time, maybe even bond over watching the Chamelebirds swarm up the mountain in the spring (they were so beautiful with their many-colored feathers, never mind that they had no form of camouflage at all). Besides, Underland was always more interesting when that girl was around.

Tarrant muttered some kind of nonsense about tea in a courtroom, so she jabbed him again- his thoughts were wandering, he deserved it!

"_Ow,_" he muttered, bending down to rub both shins. She noted that his clothing was brightening up, though. "Why weren't you born a hedgehog?"

"We shall go on a quest!" she declared, ignoring the possible insult in his comment. Half of his cryptic remarks were just nonsense, anyway (she told herself this without quite believing it). "All three of us, with Thackery too! C'mon, it'll be gloriously mad."

He smiled a bit at that- a real smile, even if he was still partially off in his own little la-la-land- so she raced over to Mirana as fast as her paws could take her (the queen was _so_ wilting, one simply had to look at her hands to see it). Once there, she struck her Most Noble Pose, the dashing one she'd practiced again and again while standing on the table for tea. "My liege! Might you have a task, a goal for us to fulfill?"

Mirana looked to both sides so hastily that she had to wonder (for a moment) if the battle had started again. Then, however, the Queen smiled down at her in her typically queasy way, and all was right in the world. "Why- of course! But it's a most dangerous one, dear Mally," (oh, how she quivered with restrained rage at that nickname- she _hated_ it when people shortened her name) "so I know not whether-"

"We can handle it!" she almost screamed, only biting back her excitement moments before the words left her mouth. Dangerous missions were her _forte._

Besides- she had heard Tarrant giggle in the background (even if the sound was as faint as a twitching of whiskers, it was there!).

They'd make him right again.

-o-

"You're almost looking better," was his first comment as he materialized over the table; a genuinely thoughtful comment, one that possibly even implied that he cared. He did, secretly, not that Tarrant needed to know; the hatter was unusually comfortable with his madness, and was completely true to himself as a direct result. It made him a decent study, a good conversation, and those were terribly hard to find in Underland, even when one could appear anywhere at will.

"Looks tend to deceive, though Mallymkun and Thackery have been doing their best," his old friend muttered in reply, poking at the blueberry crumpet placed before him with his spoon. "You're late, you know. Such terrible manners."

"Nonsense," Chessur purred, floating his way up and down the table in his comfortably lazy fashion. Every chair but the one at the head was empty, the usual suspects nowhere in sight. "I'd say I was early, and _I'm _the one in good standing with Time."

Tarrant sneered a bit at that, but then seemed to regain his composure. He was observing his food in a very distant way, and Chess guessed that he was looking within rather than without; it would explain his unusually straightforward prose. All the twists and turns were undoubtedly contained inside. An invigorating journey of self-discovery it would certainly be, but it made him a boring, far-too-quiet companion all the same. He sighed, feeling dull already, and started to fade out with the thought that the hatter might be in better tempers the next day.

"Leaving so soon?"

He let his head materialize back into place, already anchored by his grin as it was. "Well, you're having another one of your _moods_. There's no good in me hanging about, waiting until you've gotten over her."

Tarrant's eyes flashed red and bloody and he cursed loudly in Outlandish, picking up the nearest muffin to throw directly at him. Chessur cheerfully turned his head slightly insubstantial and stayed where he was, watching in amusement as the human worked off his rage through alternating screams and pelted objects. It took eight full minutes before his eyes faded back to green. Perhaps it would have taken less time if he'd snapped him out of it, like the dormouse was wont to do, but what fun would that be?

"Feeling better?" he asked then, curious as to whether he might get the hatter to speak his typical nonsense at last.

"By such an exceedingly small amount that it might disappear at any moment," Tarrant replied, sounding surprised. "'Thank you' would be the proper rejoinder, I suppose?"

"Undoubtedly." Chess yawned and pulled the rest of his body back into a solid shape, stepping down from the air to curl up around one of the warmer and more unusually-shaped teapots still on the table (very few were left after that last rage, very few indeed). "Amusing as this encounter has been so far, I find myself pondering: did you have a reason for summoning me here?"

The hatter didn't respond; he just fiddled with the brim of his top hat, smiling in a curious way. The cat eventually figured it out, Time not being a question.

"My hat!" In a flash he had evaporated, even pulling his grin along promptly, and reappeared over Tarrant's shoulder. "It's finished? Where is it? Show it to me now, you obnoxious tease."

Tarrant chuckled as he plucked a tiny box out of his coat-pocket and pulled the object in question straight out of it. It was glorious, truly, a darker shade of purple than his fur with gray stripes, and just wide enough to settle comfortably over his ears; braided rope had been sewn into the puggaree, with midnight-black feathers tucked into it every so often, holding just tightly enough that they would stay on through any conditions. Chess knocked the beautiful object out of the hatter's hand with his tail and zoomed around to let it fall directly in place on his head, then sighed in pure ecstasy at the smooth feel it had, the comfortable weight.

"I had the Queen give me distilled Jabberwock blood to use for the curing," his friend said with something approaching eagerness, clearly proud at his success of a hat. "Should evaporate properly with you, now. It's all half-and-half."

Chess popped in and out of existence, just to check- indeed, the hat went with him, and none the worse for the wear! "It's marvelous," he managed to choke out, too filled with glee to think of appropriate words; the hatter clapped his hands with a laugh.

"Off with you, pest," Tarrant continued, shooing him away (he noted almost [only almost!] guiltily that, as soon as the man's eyes left the hat, he went back to being slightly more morose and _much_ more abstract). "You're eager to show it off, I suspect."

And he was, at that, so he grinned his widest for the hatter, letting body and head (with the addition of his hat!) fade away. He thought better of silence, though, and left one more message before his grin disappeared.

"Thinking won't be enough, you know. Do you think she'd expect you to waste your time? Don't lose your muchness, Tarrant."

Fair was fair; he'd done his part. A hat so utterly perfect deserved more than one's typical saving-of-the-day.

-o-

"It's preposterous," was the only thing she could think to say at first.

Tarrant kept his eyes pointed towards the floor, though she could see them skittering left and right. She didn't like how his eyes had looked recently, come to think of it. They were too unfocused and vapid, as if he could see into another world, one much more important to him. And how terrible, it almost seemed as if that was the very case!

"It's... not unheard of, as others have gone before, but do you realize the risks involved?" She heaved a tiny sigh as she stood up, then tip-toed her way gently across the floor. A single hand was placed on his shoulder, comforting; the other was held slightly aloft in the air. The two Piglet Pages, who had been standing at the door, recognized her signal and hurried to bring a medium-sized chair so that the hatter could sit.

"It is dread difficult, your majesticness," he replied, agreeing with her. His voice carried the great weight of fatigue and sorrow and his tie was gray and drooping, belying his words. "That is why I wish to travel alone."

Mirana narrowed her eyes, observing him, wondering if he was putting on a kicked-puppy show to gain her support. She cheerfully pushed the concern aside after a moment, however, for Tarrant always spoke his mind. It was part of what made him such a loyal subject. Oh, if only he'd agree to come and be a Royal Haberdasher for her, instead of forever lazing about at that tea table of his!

"Sit," she ordered gently, standing back as the pages returned; he 'sat' in the empty space right next to the chair, knees bent perfectly, as though he were perched on an invisible stool. She shook her head and decided to let him be. "Hatter, dearest, I shall not fulfill this request. No, no, hear me out-" (for he had quickly looked up at her with a childlike sadness veiling his half-open eyes, as if miniature rainclouds had come to life right above his hat: did the tears of a madman have medical value? How to harvest them would be fascinating)- "Alice _will_ return someday, and I think it's best if we stay away from her world until then."

"She'll have forgotten, with her mind in so many other places," he whispered, still miserable.

"Nivens can only use the Looking-Glass because his mind is so straight-laced already," she reminded him gently, for he _was_ still a valuable citizen and of great possible use, if only he could break out of his slump. "The rest of us would never do. But tell me, Hatter- why now? Why not before?"

He looked at her fully, then, the sadness on his face turning to injured pride and annoyance. "_She's_ not supposed to be the one to make the impossible puzzles. I need a hint, maybe. Or at least I can hear it again, from her?"

She patted his shoulder, pretending to sympathize despite her complete confusion as to what he was saying. Certainly she could understand missing Alice, though- they all did. Things ran so much more smoothly when the girl was there. Why, in fact, the girl made her feel almost... _dangerous_. She shoved the thought away quickly, laughing on a faintly hysterical note as she firmly locked the family tendencies away, and hurriedly turned her mind towards the problem at hand. "I'm sure you can talk it all over when she returns. In the meantime, she wouldn't want you to worry so! That's how Alice is."

The words were little and nearly meaningless, but they made his eyes light up. She could almost _hear_ the gears in his mind turning as he considered new possibilities, took a different view. She watched with a light-hearted smile as he made his irrelevant excuses and backwards-bowed his way out of the room, his clothing brightening by the minute.

It pleased her to be able to help, to know that he might improve from that point on; it pleased her more that she could now get his many acquaintances to stop jabbering at her about his case. Because sometimes, honestly, she had to wonder what magical properties dormouse fur might have- Mirana slapped herself across the face. Happy, cheerful, non-bloody thoughts. Right.

-o-

It had gotten colder that day.

"Thackery?"

He jolted around towards the person who had addressed him, holding his cup out _just in case_. "Marmalade!" he replied happily upon seeing Hatter taking a seat; the human had gone off who-knew-where just the day before, and the table seemed bland when he wasn't there, never mind how his eyes tended to be so far-off and probably gallivanting.

"Good to see you as well," his old friend replied, twisting his hat around so that the ribbons would lay properly. He liked them better all skewed.

"It's a lovely time," he agreed. Time had finally managed to get Tarrant's attention and had shook him well, had told him to stop being such a sour-puss, and then had finally lifted his ban. 'Twas no longer constantly six o'clock in their clearing (the pocket-watches ticked again! They alarmed him), but he generally considered it to be that time anyway. It was a good time, was it not?

"Thackery, I've a query for you," the madman stated plainly once he'd chosen his cup and flavor. "Have you ever... ah... admired some-one-or-thing so deeply that you couldn't bear for it to be nonexistent?" His eyes wandered over to one of the old trees bordering the clearing. "Lovely job Jack did this year on the leaves."

He nodded vigorously in agreement, scooping up the sugar bowl and hugging it tightly against his worn jacket.

"It's just old Expectations," the hatter complained, swishing his boysenberry tea around in the chipped cup before taking a sip. "She tends to build things up, you know?"

He didn't, so he nodded vigorously again.

"So, so, here's the puzzle!" Tarrant grinned brightly for a moment before letting the energy fade away. "Does the illusion ever come crashing down?"

"Not if y'know just what makes it so wonderful," he replied just as happily, gazing dotingly down at the sugar bowl again. He vaguely noted that that made a terribly wide grin appear on Tarrant's face out of the blue, unexpected-like. Then he leaned back, flinging the bowl across the table with all of his might.

Gravity was terribly fun.

-o-

_That__ might have gone better,_ Alice thought to herself quite dryly as she ducked behind a large keg that had been tucked near a corner of the deck, wrapping her arms around her knees and curling herself into a tight ball. An explosion boomed into existence somewhere off to her left, rocking the ship in the opposite direction and sending seawater cascading over her. She spit out the water that had gotten into her mouth and hurriedly brushed wet strands of hair off of her forehead, then squeezed her eyes shut tight.

The trading business had blossomed as soon as an alliance had been formed with China; they'd made connections galore with various ambassadors and businessmen, and there had even been talk of Alice being made a partner in the company. She, a mere woman of twenty-three years, working in business! It had seemed surreal when compared to the social climate she'd grown up in; it had seemed like an absolute blessing, to be allowed to make such good use of her life.

Another metallic ball hit the ship, closer to her this time; the barrage of sounds was making her ears ring. Someone was screaming off in the distance. Alice shut it all out, concentrating, gritting her teeth.

All good things had to come to an end eventually, and their prospering business had reached a sharp conclusion when war was declared between Britain and China not three days previously. Three days earlier, their trading partners had nothing against them; yes, they'd muttered about other Englishmen who smuggled in excess amounts of opium, but they'd always given Alice reassuring smiles and words. _Her_ ships had no need to fear the Qing Dynasty, for they were manned by law-abiding sailors and citizens, yes?

How curious it was, how quickly those pleasant acquaintances exchanged faces of business for faces of war.

More water sloshed over the side of the ship, but she didn't bother to brush it away; she was too busy muttering under her breath. The words came too quickly and too jumbled for anyone to understand, Alice herself included, but they were familiar and comforting all the same. Unfortunately, she needed more than words to save her just then.

The captain had insisted that they needed to get out of the country at the first news of the war, and she had hastily agreed. For two days, it had seemed that they would succeed in their escape and find themselves back in their mother country in one piece. For two days, she had dared to have hope. The third day had ruined all of her lovely illusions and dreams- except the most important one, her wonderful, everlasting fact. She knew that she'd made something of her life; she knew that it hadn't all been useless, pretty things, for she'd made _good_ trading connections which would surely last past the war. She'd done her part in expanding their view of the world.

But the Opium War, as they had taken to calling it, would put an end to trading on her side, at least. Ascot would never hear of her traveling in such dangerous waters, not without a background in self-defense that would not be accepted back at home. She'd be restricted to her sister's house again, now that her mother had passed away, put back into a life where she could please no one, could never truly fit into a puzzle again...

The mess of words she'd been muttering was exchanged for one, one word which she repeated over and over like a mantra, a safety blanket. An odd word, not something any sane person would think to whisper on their deathbed.

Heavy footsteps fell from beyond her hiding place, then the keg was shoved aside. Two Chinese soldiers stared down at her, initially bewildered at the sight of a female on the ship; then the first grinned and muttered something to the other in that foreign language she never had managed to master. She didn't like the sound of it, even if she didn't understand what it was.

Words weren't going to be enough. Actions would be needed instead.

Alice stood up, nearly slipping in the stagnant water at her feet; her left hand shot out to grab at the railing to her side before she could fall. The soldiers froze for a second, their hands sneaking over to rest on their pistols, clearly looking her over to make sure she wasn't armed. She ducked her head, letting the sopping locks of her golden hair shield her face from the two.

"Things are only impossible if you believe they are," she murmured, staring at her feet and gathering her courage.

The second soldier barked out a sentence in his language, taking a step forward.

"So if you must return to Wonderland," she continued, reaching back with her other hand to grasp the railing with it as well, "you simply must believe that it is real."

She lifted her head, smiling at the two men, then jumped up and pushed herself over the edge, which meant that she immediately hurtled down towards the water below. She got the briefest glimpse of the two rushing forward to peer over the side of her ship before she hit the water with such force that her breath was knocked right out of her lungs.

Down, down, down- her efficient blue traveling dress seemed so heavy now, and it was like her sensible brown boots had been bolted to her feet in her sleep. The saltwater stung her eyes, so she squeezed them shut. When she opened them again, the world had been replaced by a murky blue. Curiouser and curiouser, she supposed.

She needed to breathe. She couldn't breathe, as inhaling water would surely kill her. Underland logic stated that when a need was restricted, the restriction simply had to be removed. So, since she needed to breathe, there would be no water surrounding her as soon as she opened her mouth.

Alice shut her eyes again, hoping it would help, and prepared to inhale.

-o-

"C'mon, Hatter, try some tea."

He stared down at his cup, attempting to not look like he was sulking. It didn't work particularly well; he never had been good at hiding his emotions. "No... thank you."

"Well, that's just _ridiculous!_" Mallymkun screamed, exploding into fury as suddenly as she always did. "There's nothing _wrong_ with it, you imbecile, stop being such a stuck-up morose-minded _narfegnubbin!"_

Normally, the use of such a word would have sent him into an absolute rage, the kind where his temper came out and his eyes flashed red- but he wasn't anywhere near the mood for anger just then (in fact, it was half a mile away). So the hatter twisted himself around instead such that his legs were draped over the back of the chair and his head was dangling under the table, his top hat inches away from falling off. "Language," he reminded her in a condescending tone after a moment or two had passed, remembering that he was supposed to be the mature one. 'Mature' was entirely subjective when it came to the three of them, of course.

As for why he was being so passive- well, he hated premonitions. Why, he had gotten the feeling not four minutes previously that his world was awfully close to ending. He refused to believe it, of course; it was all too convenient a feeling, of course; but still, but still! What use could prophecies be if they were always ignored?

"Isn't that just like a stubborn, stupid hatter!" Mallymkun grumbled (he watched vaguely as her tail swished under the table, back and forth, rather like a furry pendulum clock. Would she tick next?). "Goodness, it's as if we hadn't gone adventuring yesterday at all!"

"Queast," Thackery commented in an unusually calm voice, "has terribly nice dandelions." The hare's left paw gave a nervous twitch right in front of his hat.

"No, we went past there," the dormouse argued in return (he was starting to get as petulant as a doorstop under the table- had they forgotten him already? How very like his friends), "and besides, the flowers were awful rude. Told me I was dull, did you hear them? Dull! Me!"

Thackery, apparently completely unable to think up a response to that remark that would not get the sugar thrown at him, quickly ducked his head under the table as well. "Well, you aren't right at all, then, eh? Or- _whatisthatthing getitoffgetitoff_ thanks muchly, Mallymkun."

He watched in great disinterest as a giant, puce grasshopper jumped off into the distance, not bothering to ask the obvious question (what fun would considering the possibilities be then?). Thackery helped in that, as he continued like nothing unusual had happened; for Underland, nothing had. "Are you just tryin' to hide from the rain? It's a bit of an overlarge umbrella, I think."

A frown at the mention of rain, an attempt to push himself up enough to see over the table again. The sky above was a brilliant, clear blue, reminiscent of- well, there wasn't a single orange cloud in sight. He could see quite well that it would be due to storm in three or four days, that there would be felines and canines falling from the sky at that point, in fact, but it seemed a tad bit early to be preparing for such an occasion.

"Rain?" he repeated softly, peering up at the sometimes-infinite expanse above more closely.

At that moment, a barrage of water poured in through a slit in the sky and slammed down on top of the table, bringing plenty of seaweed and a few confused fish with it. It hit the surface with such force that it actually made the wood creak; the food and dishes were quickly pushed to the sides so that they all clattered down onto the ground, and the tablecloth made a suspicious ripping noise. Thackery immediately pushed his chair back from the table while Mallymkun shrieked that she _hated_ swimming, what _was_ all of this nonsense?

Most importantly, however, a figure about his size slammed down on the table right in front of him, its yellow hair immediately getting tangled in the blue fabric draped around it. The figure started coughing violently as the remainder of the water splattered down all around it, and it did not attempt to get up.

He twisted himself around so that he was sitting in the customary position again, shaking water off of his hat (for, really, he didn't want it to lose its sheen), then peered more closely at the person lying on the table before him. Female, definitely. And shockingly familiar.

The figure, still coughing (and now blowing water out of her nose), lifted her head slightly and looked at him. And honestly, there was no challenge involved at all, he'd recognize those eyes anywhere, filled to the brim with muchness to spare. _That _was a proper rhyme, if a boring one.

"It's an Alice," he breathed out, his eyes widening.

He wasn't prepared for her reaction (and he was usually prepared for absolutely any possibility), didn't expect that she would lunge forward, wrap her arms around his shoulders, and start squeezing him like her life depended on it. He could see the purpose behind her movement, for she was an Alice, after all- he was playing the part of an anchor, perhaps, keeping her from floating away. But still, but still! They had Time on their side now, and could work on such things. He half-wanted to scold her for getting _him_ all wet, too, but couldn't quite think it a good enough reason. Besides, she was busy doing something between coughing and laughing with her face pressed against his neck; he doubted that she would hear. Goodness, how his thoughts were running about!

"T-told you I'd come back," she managed to splutter out between coughs; "told you, didn't I, Hatter?"

He wanted to tease her for being so late. He wanted to teach her how to Futterwacken. He wanted to proclaim that _she_ could be the sidekick this time, it was his turn to lead an adventure! He wanted to kiss her or shake her silly, never mind how many onlookers there might be. He wanted to confirm that she hadn't forgotten him, truly?

"There is an _eel_ in my _cream_," Thackery squawked indignantly, twisting his ears together to wring the seawater out of them. That snapped him out of his thoughts quite nicely, confirmed that things could possibly work themselves out in the end.

"Well," he whispered, patting her back delicately so as not to poke her with a hat-pin, "if you wanted the dishes washed, you could have just _said_ so."

* * *

_Well, everyone, this is the end. It's been a truly astounding experience- never before have I gotten such an overwhelming response on a story (or updated it so on time)! Thank you, dear reviewers and readers, for joining in on this crazy ride; I have appreciated every comment and kind word you've given._

_And for those of you who have yet to come, I do hope that you enjoyed, and I would also ask that you might take a minute to leave notes on what was done right and wrong; I have a habit of writing about characters who are mostly Mad, so any feedback would help infinitely in improving future work._

_Cheerio, luvs!_

_- Snow_


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